Deep within the Hauttaeren mountains beneath Caercaern, two acolytes stood before the solid stone doors of the inner halls, their eyes glazed with boredom. There were no ceremonies scheduled for the day, nothing that would require the Chosen or a covey of fellow acolytes or any members of the Flame to descend into the depths of the ancient halls. Certainly nothing that would require them to open the door that had been carved from two massive slabs of granite, the scenes on each-one depicting a lost location of the northern reaches during summer, leaves fluttering on a warm breeze; the other the same scene held in the icy throes of winter, the trees skeletal-worked in such detail that neither acolyte dared to touch them. The two had compared notes on the Sanctuary’s activities when they’d first arrived and relieved those who had stood guard before them, had stared at each for a moment, then sighed and settled in for a long watch. With nothing scheduled, they would be guarding the doors for the next eight hours, with nothing to do but stare into the darkness of the corridor beyond the slew of lanterns that lit the room.
“I don’t understand.”
Caera shifted uncomfortably. The acolytes that guarded the doorway to the inner halls were supposed to remain ritually silent. They weren’t supposed to converse.
But she’d already suffered four hours of silence.
Reluctantly, she said, “What don’t you understand?”
A tension in Thaddaeus’ shoulders relaxed, as if he thought he’d be reprimanded for speaking. Both of them remained standing in place, at ease, but backs straight, their leather armor hidden beneath brown robes, ceremonial staffs held before them, butts planted solidly on the stone floor of the corridor. Neither glanced toward the other.
“Why we’re here. The formality of it. No one is coming down to the inner sanctum today. The Chosen and the others know that. So why send two acolytes? We could be doing something else, something important.”
“Such as?”
“Research. Study. Contemplation.”
“Perhaps that is what we are supposed to be doing now. Contemplating. In silence.”
Thaddaeus fell silent, rebuked. Caera raised her head slightly, stood a fraction straighter.
Then broke the silence five minutes later. “What are you contemplating?”
Before Thaddaeus could answer, a hollow booming sound filled the wide chamber where they stood. Both acolytes stiffened and shot each other terrified glances as the echoes faded down the corridor that stretched out before them.
“I think it came from behind us,” Thaddaeus said, his voice weak and thready.
Caera turned and looked at the massive doors. The two scenes-summer and winter-were split down the center by a border a hand wide. Near chest height, two huge bronze rings had been set into the stone, used to pull the doors open when one of the Sanctuary’s many ceremonies required descending into the mountain depths to Aielan’s Light, or when one of the acolytes required access to the ancient Alvritshai halls for their research.
Thaddaeus reached forward to grasp one of the rings before glancing toward Caera in uncertainty. She shrugged.
The hollow boom echoed again through the corridor and Caera was gratified to see Thaddaeus flinch. Then he pulled on the bronze ring, the counterweighted door opening smoothly but slowly.
From the depths beyond, three members of the Flame stepped forward, two torches raised to ward against the darkness.
The leader’s eyes latched onto Caera and she started.
“I am Vaeren Tir Assoum, caitan of the Order of the Flame. I need to speak to the Chosen immediately.”
As Aeren, Eraeth, Colin, Siobhaen, and Hiroun crested the last ridge before the descent into Artillien, the first of the town’s bells began ringing, announcing their lord’s arrival home.
Aeren shook his head, his face set as a lord’s should be as he contemplated his holdings, the winter sun harsh on the water of the lake, the Rhyssal House banners flapping over his manse, but Colin could see the twitch in his cheek below his eye as he tried to control his relief over being home. If Siobhaen had not been here, he thought the lord might have actually smiled, but her presence had put a strain on their entire journey back through the mountains and to Rhyssal House lands. Neither Aeren nor Eraeth trusted her, so both refused to relax in her presence.
“One of the House towns or outposts must have sent word ahead of us,” Eraeth said, edging his horse ahead of Aeren, “to alert them to our arrival.”
“As they should,” Aeren said stiffly. But then Aeren sighed and let a small smile peek through. “Perhaps they will have a feast waiting for us.”
Eraeth merely grunted, although his horse snorted and stamped the stone roadway as if in anticipation. Hiroun grinned.
“I could use a feast,” Colin said. He shifted in his saddle, trying to relieve the pressure of his wound. He’d wanted to drink from the Well in order to speed up the healing process, but he’d drunk more in the last few weeks than he had in the last few decades and didn’t want to allow the taint of the Well to spread any more than necessary. But the pain had slowed them down. “And a night of complete rest in a real bed.”
“I, as well,” Siobhaen said.
The tension between her and those from Rhyssal tightened as she spoke, but Aeren simply nodded toward Artillien, where more bells had joined the first and they could now see activity within the manse overlooking the lake. “It will be good to see Moiran and Fedaureon,” Aeren murmured, then nudged his horse over the rise.
They rode through the town without halting, shouts rising from those they passed, slowing only as they reached the roadway up to the walls of the manse. The gates were open, Rhyssal House Phalanx waiting to either side to take their horses, but Aeren’s gaze locked onto his wife and son where they stood on the steps of the manse. Colin hung back, beside Siobhaen, as the lord dismounted, Eraeth close behind, younger guardsmen leading their horses away as Aeren strode up to the landing.
“House Rhyssal welcomes home its lord,” Moiran said with a bow of her head. She could not keep the smile from her face, nor the warmth from her voice.
“And its lord is glad to be home,” Aeren said with a broad grin. He nearly laughed, but caught himself. A small crease of concern etched his brow briefly as he gazed at Moiran, and with a closer look Colin realized why. Moiran had aged while they were gone. New wrinkles touched the skin around her eyes and mouth, making her face look drawn and tired.
Fedaureon had aged as well, although in a different way. He stood straighter, shoulders back, his face full of eager vitality.
Moiran’s gaze swept through the remaining three members of the party. “Where are the others-caitan Vaeren and the rest of the Flame?”
Aeren immediately sobered. “Much has happened, none of which we can speak of here.”
Moiran nodded. “I have had a meal prepared. We can discuss everything in the confines of your study. Fedaureon, accompany your father. I’ll see to the rest of the guests.”
She motioned Fedaureon and Aeren forward, Eraeth and Daevon trailing behind, Fedaureon speaking to his father in a hushed voice almost immediately. The last Colin saw of them, Aeren had frowned. Then they were lost to the shadows beneath the portico.
Moiran moved down the steps and clasped Colin’s hands. “It is good to see you return, old friend.” Her gaze slid toward Siobhaen, and Colin suddenly realized that he and Hiroun had positioned themselves to either side of her, as if they were guarding her, hemming her in.
“It’s good to be back, although I won’t be staying for long. I don’t believe you were formally introduced to Siobhaen before.”
Moiran’s hands tightened their hold, “No, but I remember her. Welcome, Siobhaen.”
Siobhaen bowed her head. “Aielan’s Light upon you and your House.”
Moiran caught Colin’s gaze, brow furrowed in consternation. But she had been the Tamaell’s wife for far too long to ask questions she knew he could not answer here.
She led them into the manse, but slowly, and Colin suddenly realized she was giving Fedaureon and Aeren time to talk. They passed through the halls to Aeren’s study, where a table had been set, already laden with trays of fruit and cheese and a decanter of wine. Servants were removing extra place settings, laid out for Vaeren and the others, Colin assumed. Aeren, Eraeth, and Fedaureon were at the massive desk, papers scattered before them, Aeren scanning them with intent. Moiran frowned at them, but motioned Colin, Siobhaen, and Hiroun toward seats, even as the first steaming tray of food arrived.
Aeren looked up as the robust aroma of roasted meat and vegetables filled the room, then dropped the missive he’d been reading. “We can discuss this later,” he said to Fedaureon, even though he remained troubled.
Fedaureon began to protest, but at a look from Daevon, he became silent.
The entire group seated themselves, Moiran and Aeren at each end of the table, as more platters began to arrive. Aeren nodded to Fedaureon to formally bless the food in Aielan’s name, and then the group began serving themselves from the heaping trays.
For a long moment, no one spoke, Moiran’s eyebrows rising in shock as those in the party ate as if ravenous. Colin grunted at his first bite of the roasted pheasant, flavored with a sauce containing rosemary and other herbs. Servants poured wine and hustled to replace empty platters, bowls of a creamy squash soup appearing, with some kind of spice that left a mild burn on the back of the tongue. But as soon as the initial hunger for something besides fire-roasted rabbit eaten with fingers had been slaked, Aeren asked, too casually, “So what has occurred in my absence?”
Colin felt a moment of surprise when Fedaureon straightened in his seat, washing down a bit of meat with a swallow of wine before he began. Moiran had always given the reports in the past.
“Winter harvests went well. We have an excess of wheat from the central and eastern fields. I’ve allocated most of it for use in the Ilvaeren, the rest for trade with the Provinces. Nearly half of that is already on its way to Neaell, to be stored and shipped south in the spring.”
“And I have already contacted some of the other ladies of the Ilvaeren regarding the portion we have kept,” Moiran said. “I believe that we can use the grain to garner some decent concessions regarding our own future needs.”
Aeren nodded, then motioned toward Fedaureon with his knife. “Continue.”
Fedaureon launched into a further accounting of some of the early winter harvests, a nervous tightness around his eyes relaxing as he spoke, as if he’d expected Aeren to be disappointed with the decisions he had made while they were gone. But Aeren said nothing, questioning him occasionally on his reasoning, or offering up a different point of view, but never actively countering any of the decisions his son had made. Colin did notice that none of the discussion concerned anything that would be of interest to Siobhaen or the Order of Aielan; both Fedaureon and Aeren were obviously still aware of her presence. Watching Fedaureon, Colin caught moments-an expression, a gesture-when he reminded him so strongly of Aeren as he had been when they’d first met on the plains that he winced.
Moiran reached forward and touched his arm, drawing his attention away from father and son, then said in a soft voice, “I shocked Fedaureon a little while you were away. Until recently, we’ve been including him in the decisions made for the House, both in the Evant and the Ilvaeren, but the final decisions have been ours. When Aeren left for this little adventure,” her voice was tinged with the disapproval she’d voiced before they’d departed, “I decided that it was time Fedaureon received a taste of what making the decisions himself would be like.”
“And?”
“He fared… well.”
Colin grinned. “Meaning he didn’t make the decisions you or Aeren would have made.”
“Not on all counts, no. But that is to be expected. He is not Aeren, and I do not expect him to be. One day the House will be his. He will learn from his mistakes.”
Colin’s heart faltered. He could not conceive of the Rhyssal House without Aeren as its lord. At the time they met on the plains, Aeren had been the younger of two sons, there for his Trial, with the expectation that his brother Aureon would ascend and take over the House on their father’s death. But since then, since Colin’s emergence from the Ostraell and his transformation into Shaeveran by the Well, Aeren had been the House’s lord.
The fact that this would change, that it was inevitable, disturbed him enough he set his knife and fork down, suddenly no longer hungry. He reached for his wine instead.
“And it doesn’t bother you?”
Moiran looked surprised. “That he will learn from his mistakes?”
Colin smiled. “No, that one day the House will be his.”
She chuckled, shaking her head before looking Colin in the eye. He didn’t know what she saw there, but the smile on her lips faltered and she straightened, one hand reaching for his arm again. “Colin, I have served as the Tamaea, whose sole purpose aside from leading the ladies of all of the other Houses in the Ilvaeren was to raise the heirs to the Alvritshai throne. I spent nearly all of my life preparing Thaedoren and his brother Daedelan for their rise to power. This role didn’t change when Fedorem died and I was bonded to Aeren. Only the scale. I’ve spent the last thirty years preparing Fedaureon to take Aeren’s place.” She squeezed his arm. “You, of all people, should be aware of how time changes everything.”
“Yes, I am. And yet you and Aeren have been the one constant presence in my life since I returned from drinking from the Well.”
Moiran frowned. “But we will die, Shaeveran. You know that.”
“I know it, but that does not mean I have accepted it.”
Moiran searched his face a long moment, concerned. Eraeth sat to one side, listening to Fedaureon and Aeren’s conversation intently, although he’d been watching Colin and Moiran. Colin couldn’t read his expression, but when he turned aside, a troubled look passed over the Protector’s face. His gaze paused on Siobhaen, then dropped to consider Aeren before growing distant with thought.
Eventually, the conversation and focus on food died down, everyone settling back in their seats with glasses of wine close by, a mood of satiation and contentment settling over the room. The tautness in Fedaureon’s face and body had released, and even Colin felt some of the stresses of the harsh travel falling away. He slumped in his chair, adjusting his position as pain shot up from his mostly-healed side. Silence settled, broken only by the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the occasional heavy sigh.
Until Hiroun yawned. The Phalanx guardsman had nearly nodded off where he sat twice already, his head lowering, eyes slowly closing, before jerking up at the last minute.
Aeren smiled and Moiran chuckled.
With a significant glance toward her husband, Moiran rose and said, “I think we should allow our guests to retire for the evening, Fedaureon. They have returned from a long journey and, so I’ve gathered, will be leaving us again shortly.”
“Not all of us,” Colin said.
Her eyebrows lifted, but she said nothing. Fedaureon stood as the rest rose as well, all except Aeren and Colin.
“Hiroun,” Moiran said, “if you could escort Siobhaen to her quarters, I’ll see that the rest of the rooms are prepared.”
Siobhaen nodded. “Thank you, Lady Moiran. It has been a pleasure being a guest of your House.”
The two left, Hiroun leading Siobhaen, although she could not have been unaware of the second guardsman who fell in behind them both. Colin expected Moiran and Fedaureon to depart as well, but they both stayed. As servants began clearing away the plates and serving trays, the relaxed atmosphere died and Colin suddenly realized that he would not be retiring to his rooms as early as he had thought, not based on the looks that fell on him from Aeren and Fedaureon. Eraeth, strangely, did not want to face him. But Moiran picked up on the tension in the room and settled back into her seat.
“It seems there is still something left to discuss,” she murmured, then motioned for a servant to bring another decanter of wine.
“So it would seem,” Colin said, and let some annoyance creep into his voice as he leaned forward, “although I’m not certain what it could be.”
“It’s Siobhaen,” Fedaureon blurted.
“More specifically, the Order of the Flame and Lotaern,” Aeren added.
A thread of anger began niggling its way up from Colin’s stomach. “We’ve already been over this on the return trip. More than once. You cannot come with me and Siobhaen to the east.” He turned on Fedaureon before the boy could speak, the youth already drawing breath, “And neither can you!”
Moiran stiffened in her chair, a small motion but one that sent ripples through the room. “You will not go wherever it is you’re planning to go, Aeren. Not this time. You or Fedaureon.”
The finality in her voice rang through the room like the clear tones of a bell.
“He knows that, Moiran. We’ve already discussed it. I thought we’d agreed.”
Aeren shook his head. “That was before I knew what has been happening since we left.”
Colin shot a glance at Moiran, saw her frown. “What’s happening?”
“Remember on our way to the Hauttaeran Mountains how Siobhaen and the other members of the Flame were stopping at nearly every temple, ostensibly for prayer and reflection?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t just Siobhaen and Vaeren,” Eraeth said, his voice low.
“What do you mean?”
Aeren hesitated, caught Moiran’s gaze, then motioned toward Fedaureon.
The youth leaned forward. “Approximately twenty days after you left, a member of the Order of the Flame along with a few escorting acolytes arrived in Artillien. They were welcomed at the temple in the town below, of course, and once we heard of their arrival we informed them that Lord Aeren was not present, but invited this member of the Flame and his party here to the manse nonetheless.”
“We were politely but firmly refused,” Moiran interjected.
“We sent out House guardsmen to inquire in the surrounding area, including the adjacent Houses of Baene and Nuant. There are dozens of these groups in all three House lands, moving from temple to temple, staying longer in the larger towns and cities.”
“What are they doing?” Colin asked.
Moiran shook her head. “Nothing except what the Order has always done for the people. They are performing services. More often than usual, and perhaps with more precision and dedication, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Nothing that we can use to force the members of the Flame and their escorts to withdraw,” Aeren said.
“And that is precisely the reaction that we’ve heard from the other ladies and lords we’ve sent messages to,” Moiran said. “The continued presence of the Flame-even a single member-makes everyone uneasy. Their actions are unsettling. We want them to withdraw, to return to Caercaern-”
“But they’ve done nothing that will allow us to request it of Lotaern.”
“And worse, the people have been flocking to the temples to see them, to see the rituals performed with all of their subtle nuances, with the flare of Aielan’s Light in the fires at the end and the sprinkling of the waters over those crowded into the hall.” She shook her head. “They are there for the spectacle, for the relief of the winter boredom now that the last of the harvests are in and the snows are heavier, and yes, some are there for true religious reasons, but it doesn’t matter why they are going. What matters is that they are being drawn in. I fear they are being seduced.”
Fedaureon had fallen silent as his mother and father went back and forth. Colin felt badgered on both sides, Aeren to his left and Moiran to his right, even though Moiran had been speaking mostly to Aeren, her eyes watching him, not Colin.
Aeren drew in a deep breath. “After all of this activity, and after what happened at the Well with Vaeren, we cannot trust Siobhaen, regardless of the fact that she stayed at the Well to uphold Aielan’s Light to save us all. That sacrifice may not have been a sacrifice at all; it may have been planned.”
Colin’s eyes widened. “You think that Lotaern knew that the Wraith and the Shadows would be there? That he knew I’d be incapacitated and he rigged it so that Siobhaen could gain our trust? You have more faith in Lotaern’s abilities than I do.”
“You said yourself that you knew of Lotaern’s intentions to gain the knife before you even departed from Caercaern,” Eraeth countered.
“Yes, but I do not think he had a specific plan for how to do that. He sent Vaeren and Siobhaen and the others with me so that if the opportunity arose they could retrieve the knife. I didn’t expect the opportunity to arise, but Vaeren seized the moment when it did.”
“And now Lotaern has the knife and is obviously using the Flame for something else throughout Alvritshai lands. Yet you insist on traveling to the dwarren with a woman who is a potential traitor and with no protection.”
Colin smiled coldly. “You don’t think I can handle her on my own?”
“You have to sleep at some point, Shaeveran,” Eraeth said.
The use of his Alvritshai name cut off Colin’s bitter response. After a moment of silence, he said, “You may be correct about Siobhaen. But as Moiran has pointed out, you and Fedaureon are needed here, to protect Rhyssal House interests in Caercaern and to protect its lands. You cannot allow the incursion of the Flame through Alvritshai lands to go unchallenged. You’ll have to go to Caercaern. Which means Fedaureon will have to remain here to watch over your House and lands. There is no one else I would trust to accompany me and Siobhaen.”
Aeren frowned at the blunt summary, at a loss for words. Fedaureon glanced toward his father, uncertain of what to say, then to Daevon.
Then Eraeth said, “I will go.”
Colin would have sworn he heard a gasp, even though no one made a sound. But everyone stilled, Moiran drawing in a breath and holding it. Her gaze danced back and forth between Aeren and Eraeth, neither of the two looking toward the other, Eraeth holding himself stiffly. His stance looked uncomfortable.
Only Fedaureon dared to speak. “But you’re my father’s Protector.”
“That does not mean that he needs to be near me at all times, Fedaureon. He has left my side before.” Aeren shifted in his chair, twisting to look at Eraeth. “If this is what you wish, I will not forbid it.”
Aeren’s voice was carefully controlled. Colin could not read anything from it, could not tell whether Aeren approved or disapproved, was angry or elated or even surprised.
The silence held, everyone waiting for Eraeth’s response. He finally looked at Aeren. “It is the best solution to the current problem. One that satisfies everyone, I believe.”
He looked at Colin questioningly, as if asking whether or not Colin trusted him. But there was no question. Eraeth had carried Colin from the battlefield at the Escarpment, had taught him Alvritshai, had done countless other things since. He trusted Eraeth as much, if not more, than Aeren himself.
But he had not thought Eraeth would separate himself from Aeren’s side. He had before, on Aeren’s order, but never like this. Not for an extended period of time. And not at his own suggestion.
Moiran glared in protest, although she did not speak, obviously restraining herself.
Aeren finally nodded. “Then so be it.”
Colin left the warmth of his rooms in the Rhyssal House manse and moved through the darkened halls toward the secluded gardens on the promontory of rock overlooking the lake. He paused outside the great room that was also Aeren’s study, heard the low murmur of voices, recognized Aeren’s and Moiran’s, their tones intense and fraught with worry and tension, so he moved on, past the kitchens where a few servants saw him but did not approach, and then through the outer doors.
The night air was biting, but he did not turn back. He breathed it in deeply, let it scour his lungs clean, then closed the doors behind him and made his way into the gardens. They were designed for relaxation, the pathways curling in and out among rock and bush and tree, nearly all of the plants dead and denuded of leaves by winter. A few conifers, carefully sculpted into windswept layers by the gardeners under Moiran’s supervision, appeared black in the moonlight. He passed through them, over stone or wooden bridges with ponds frozen beneath, through a few drifts of snow that had piled up from the winds during the day, until he stood on the wide wooden terrace that had been built over the edge of the stone promontory. Resting his hands on the railing, the breeze gusting into his face, reddening his skin, he stared out over the black water, flecked with reflected light from the moon above.
He tried to think of nothing. But all he could see in the black surface below was the movement of the Lifeblood underground, the pull of the current as whatever Walter had done-and he knew in his gut it had been Walter-drew it eastward.
In the back of his mind, he heard the Wraith that had attacked them at the Well whisper, We are already moving, our armies already in motion. This is merely the removal of an… annoyance.
He snorted at the insult, but frowned. What armies had the Wraith meant? Were the Shadows on the move? And what of the other Wraiths? They had never established exactly how many there were, and if Walter had found another source of the Lifeblood besides the Wells that Colin had warded, he could be creating even more.
His hands tightened on the polished wooden railing as the old, bitter hatred filled the back of his throat with the taste of bile. It seethed inside him, as the Lifeblood did, roiling to the surface like the black marks beneath his skin.
They had had decades without any interference from Walter or the Wraiths, but that was coming to an end. What frustrated him the most was that he couldn’t see how it was ending. He couldn’t see what Walter intended to do.
He had sunk so far into his hatred and frustration that he did not hear the footfalls until the figure was at his back. He reacted instantly, instinctively, seizing time and slowing it nearly to a halt even as he spun. The absence of his staff made him growl in his throat-his hands were already swinging it around even though they were empty-as he slid smoothly into a low crouch, knees bent, shoulders forward, balanced on the balls of his feet.
He let out his pent-up breath in a sigh as he saw who stood behind him, his face frozen in the first indications of surprise, eyes beginning to widen, his upper body beginning to jerk back. Fedaureon hadn’t realized his approach had gone unnoticed.
As Colin relaxed, he fought back his own surprise. He would have expected Eraeth or Moiran to join him, perhaps even Aeren.
He would never have foreseen Fedaureon seeking him out.
Standing up straight and positioning himself off to one side, a step or two away so that he wouldn’t appear threatening, Colin allowed time to resume.
Fedaureon lurched backward, a gasp escaping him even as his hand reached for the cattan strapped to his side. The blade was out before he’d found his balance, his gaze shooting frantically to either side before he caught sight of Colin standing at the railing.
It took him another few deep, shuddering breaths before the tension bled from the Rhyssal heir’s shoulders and he stood, resheathing his blade.
He bowed formally toward Colin. “I apologize. I didn’t intend to startle you.”
Colin considered lying, then smiled. “I should have been aware of your approach long before you got here. It was my fault.” He turned away. “I must admit that I’m surprised to find you out here. Did you seek me out on purpose?”
Fedaureon hesitated. Colin glanced toward him from the side, noted the angularity of his face, the eyes that came from Moiran, yet all so young. There was only a vague hint of maturity about him, something subtle in the youth’s stance.
He wondered if the Trials had continued whether or not the signs of adulthood would have been ground deeper by this point. It had seemed so for Aeren, and Fedaureon would have returned from his own Trial by now.
“Yes and no,” Fedaureon finally answered. “I came to see if you would ask Eraeth to remain. My father has always had his Protector there, not just for protection, but for advice. But I know what you will say.”
“That your father is capable of making his own decisions? That he does not need Eraeth there to help him?”
Fedaureon’s mouth twisted with irony. “Exactly.”
“You came for reassurance.” When Fedaureon didn’t answer, shifting uncomfortably where he stood, still not looking toward Colin but out over the water instead, Colin added, “Your father is capable of facing Lotaern and the Evant by himself, without Eraeth at his side, Fedaureon. You forget that he will have you near at hand. He will rely on you instead of Eraeth for his strength.”
“You mean he will rely on my mother.”
Colin’s eyes widened at the thread of bitterness in his tone. “He didn’t speak to your mother at all at dinner tonight. He received the report from you.”
“He will speak to her about it later, I’m certain.” Fedaureon said the words tightly, but Colin heard the doubt that had crept into the bitterness.
“I doubt they are arguing about you at the moment.”
Fedaureon turned toward him and Colin’s heart lurched at the vulnerability in the youth’s gaze. He’d never seen such an expression on Aeren’s face and he had to remind himself that this was not Aeren.
He faced the youth, straightening. “Fedaureon, do you think that I would allow Eraeth to leave your father’s side if it weren’t important? This is bigger than the Rhyssal House, bigger than the Evant and Lotaern, bigger than even the Alvritshai. You have never had to deal with Walter and the Wraiths and Shadows, never seen what they can do. We halted them before, but not until after they’d awakened the Wells and allowed their sphere of influence to expand to the entire known continent. And now they are beginning to act again… have already begun, if what the Wraith told us at the Well in the White Wastes is true and not a bluff. If I do not find out what is happening, then the Alvritshai, the dwarren, and the Provinces will be caught unaware. I need Eraeth’s help, no matter how much I protested having help at first. I need it more than Aeren does at the moment. Your father understands that, even if he does not like it. That’s why he agreed to let Eraeth go.”
Fedaureon considered the information in silence for a long moment, head bowed. When he finally looked up, something had settled in his gaze. His eyes had hardened and his shoulders had squared. “Thank you.”
Colin reached out and gripped Fedaureon’s shoulder, even though he knew such familiarity was not common among the Alvritshai. He was glad to see Fedaureon did not stiffen at the touch. “Relax, Fedaureon. In the morning, Eraeth and I will leave with Siobhaen for dwarren lands, and you and your father will handle whatever it is that Lotaern is planning here. We’ll halt whatever is happening, as we did before.”
Fedaureon nodded at the reassuring words.
But Colin heard the falseness in his own voice, felt the roil of uneasiness in his own stomach and in his skin, in the black taint of the Well there. He knew how close the Alvritshai had come to being destroyed at the Escarpment. And he knew how brutal and vicious Walter and the Wraiths could be.
And he knew that on the plains, with the dwarren, he wouldn’t be able to protect Aeren, Fedaureon, or Moiran from whatever Lotaern or the Wraiths were planning.