Elenai woke, heart pounding, unsettled in the darkness of the unfamiliar room. It took a moment to remember she lay in the Altenerai garrison of Vedessus, upon a bed with mattress and pillows and blankets as clean and fragrant as she herself. She’d vowed earlier that night that she’d never take such luxuries for granted again, and yet now she had little thought for them.
She lifted her hands. There was only a vague suggestion of them in the darkness, and she knew that there would be no blood upon them. She had scrubbed so very carefully.
She shook her head, trying to clear the residual images from the nightmare that still preyed upon her. She took in a few deep breaths and waited for her pulse to slow.
She had dreamed of blood. Monstrous Naor warriors had charged again and again and somehow she kept them back. But her arm had grown weary and the soil around her foul. And everywhere was blood, coating weapon and boots and clothing and hair and eyelashes and skin until she was one hue with the corpses at her feet. Then, gruesomely, a slight figure rose, dripping, from the sticky red earth and looked about with piercing blank eyes—and through glistening crimson teeth the strange blood woman demanded to know if they had met before.
That moment had wakened her.
Lying in the safety of this room behind guarded walls, the stark dream terror fading, she wondered not at all at why her mind couldn’t let go the dread from her recent experiences. But why had the dream changed who animated the gore? In life it had been a male sorcerer named Chargan manipulating blood.
Elenai shook her head wearily and found the mug of water some thoughtful squire had placed beside her bed. She drained the vessel, for her throat felt almost as dry as it had after the battle, and returned it to the nightstand, her pulse normal at last. She guessed it must be three hours before sunrise. She frowned and settled back between the covers because she had no business being awake after what she had endured for long weeks. Fatigue wracked her yet, and muscles ached as she stretched out to find a comfortable position.
Yet sleep would not return. And the distant sounds of revelry didn’t help.
Eventually, with an irritated sigh, she cast aside the covers and turned up the flame on her bedside lantern. She noticed then that she had a clean, dry khalat folded over the nearby chair. The city squires must have quietly placed the garment after scrubbing for hours. There had been so much blood.…
She didn’t have to imagine the process, as she had occasionally been involved in the care of the sacred garments herself. Hand washing over and over with astringent extracts left nails brittle and knuckles cracked; occasionally magical exertions were necessary to exorcize the most stubborn combat remnants, and most certainly had been used here as the cloth was already dry. They’d also taken pains to remove the red piping from this khalat and to replace the edges with gold embroidery, no mean feat given the toughness of the material. It no longer resembled an article worn by exalts, a castoff from a defeated enemy. It was now truly her own.
Most of the squires hadn’t taken any active part in the battle, and she’d seen disappointment in their faces at the impromptu celebration that had swept up the city last night. Doubtless they had worked overtime on more than her khalat repair, hoping to distinguish themselves and be chosen for duty in the battles to come. They craved conflict and glory, just as she and her friends once had, not fully appreciating that they’d return soaked in blood if they returned at all.
From a pitcher nearby, she splashed water into a washbowl, then scrubbed her face, brushed back her hair, and peered at herself in the bronze mirror. She really didn’t look like a killer, she thought. But maybe she didn’t stare back fresh-faced, either. Those weren’t just fatigue lines around her eyes. What she’d experienced was somehow etched there just in the way she held herself.
She turned with a contemptuous gesture and glanced over the bedroom. It was larger than her quarters back in Darassus, but she’d been so long in the wilderness that it felt constraining.
She pulled on a dark blue blouse and pants, then buckled on the khalat, noting dryly she didn’t feel comfortable leaving without the armor even though it hadn’t availed the woman who’d first owned it, someone she herself had slain. Ortala had been trying to kill you, she reminded herself, as she slid into her now well-worn parade boots.
The garrison corridors were still and empty until she reached the main entrance. The squire on duty there came to attention. Elenai was a little taken aback by the hero worship in the third ranker’s eyes.
“As you were,” she said, wondering at the crisply dismissive air in her voice.
She walked past him as though she actually knew where she was going.
No one was up, of course. What had she expected? The halls were quiet, the doors closed on people who had better sense to sleep or had taken their celebrations to the city streets.
And then, in an interior hall, she paused in mid-stride. She heard the scuff of bootheels on pavement, and saw the blaze of a light through a doorway to her left. She changed the course of her walk. Two lanterns burned brightly in the garrison courtyard, and a single man paced and pivoted between them. Shirtless in the warm night, N’lahr worked through a weaponless form.
She stood and quietly watched the perfection of his movements.
At rest, the commander’s face was plain. But it was quietly expressive in motion, and his body was beautiful: long and well-muscled, flat bellied, glistening in a sheen of sweat. His movements were flawless, and as she looked upon him, she felt an unexpected stirring of desire.
Years before, she had idolized him. Now that she knew him as an individual, she’d thought her childish romantic inclinations a thing of the past. She supposed such a reaction was only natural. She knew the difference between love and lust. Who wouldn’t be attracted to such a finely controlled physical specimen?
She stepped through the door as he knelt to deliver a blow to an imaginary opponent then rose to block others. She spotted his khalat and sword belt upon a nearby bench. Strange, that he wasn’t practicing a fighting form with his famous blade. But then perhaps he meant to rehearse attacks he hadn’t recently used. Irion had certainly been oft employed over the last two weeks. Or was it three? She realized wearily she had no coherent count of the days since N’lahr materialized into her life.
He paused, balanced on his left leg, his right hand ready to deliver a blow. For an impossibly long moment he perched there, and she was awed by his poise. Then he swept into a blur of motion as he delivered a sweeping combination of blows and kicks.
He came to a halt, breathing heavily, then looked up and met her eyes. “Hail, Alten.”
He’d never greeted her thus. But then, she hadn’t really been apart from him as an alten before.
“Hail, Commander.”
“Why are you awake so early?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” At his quizzical look she added, “Bad dreams.”
He nodded, once, as if he understood. “That will happen,” he said, and from his manner, she knew that he accepted her as an equal, a recent development to which she hadn’t fully adjusted. But then it struck her that he really did understand. His own eyes were at least as tired as her own. She remembered he always looked a little haunted. Is this what it was like then, to be Altenerai? He toweled off his face and asked an unexpected question. “Have you made time for your family yet?” He glanced at her before reaching for his shirt.
“I’m joining them for lunch.”
“Good. Don’t spend all your time with soldiers.”
She hesitated, but impelled by the discomfort of strange regard she’d seen in her sister’s eyes last night, blurted out: “Will it ever feel normal with them again?”
He slipped on his shirt, frowning. “No. But they can connect you to a shared past. And once you’re with them for a while they won’t follow you with upraised eyes. Kyrkenall could quote you the line.”
She knew the poem he meant. “Fenahnis,” from the Erymyran cycle. “‘They lingered on my words, they followed in my wake.’”
“Yes.”
“The squire on duty was looking at me like that just now.”
“That’s how you were looking at me until recently.”
Embarrassment at the blunt truth in his words set her spluttering. “But, you’ve done so much. You’re N’lahr the Grim, victor of countless impossible battles, returned from the grave, I’m just … me.”
He held her eyes with a somber expression. “Elenai, you led an astonishing sorcerous attack to save your home city. You stood with five against a hundred. You were elevated from the fifth circle straight to the ring.” He hooked the next-to-last button of his cool blue shirt and rolled down the sleeve, then spoke with an air of finality that carried neither pride nor condemnation. “You are Elenai Oddsbreaker now.”
She felt the blush on her cheeks. And her eyes drifted over to his sword. To fill the awkward silence she asked the first thing that came to her. “Why were you practicing a form without Irion?”
“I can’t rely on it alone.”
A sudden cheerless insight dawned. “You were expecting the war to end when you killed Mazakan, weren’t you?”
He smiled sadly as he hooked his khalat. “I’m not sure what to expect anymore,” he said, and there was an uncertainty in his manner she hadn’t seen before. “Rialla foretold I would slay Mazakan, with the sword. Nothing more. Yet the Naor power is hardly broken, is it?”
She thought of the image of the foul blood sorcerer last night bragging that Alantris had fallen and that Naor armies would soon take Darassus. “You killed Mazakan. You can kill Chargan if he really carries out an attack.”
“Rialla didn’t mention that.”
“How many battles did you win that were never prophesied? More than you can count, probably.” She didn’t wait for an answer. “There was only this one that you knew about. That doesn’t invalidate the ones that came before, and it doesn’t mean no more will follow. And there’s no telling if that enemy boaster will actually attack because we’ve destroyed the Naor army here.”
His gaze was sharp then. “Early this morning a messenger reached us from Alantris. He’d been traveling at full speed for nearly three days. A sizable contingent of Naor were marching on the city when he left The Fragments.”
She felt the hammer of her pulse. “You think the city’s already fallen?”
“Chargan could have been exaggerating to frighten us. But either way, we have to field an army of our own because there are Naor soldiers in our lands.” His voice grew taut with frustration. “And right now I have nothing to counter them but a few dozen garrison squires and a handful of Altenerai. So, in a few hours I’m meeting with the governor to request the aid of her troops.”
“She’ll help,” Elenai said confidently.
“I hope so. I need also convince her to side with us in the matter of the queen. She was … reticent last night when I described Leonara’s treacheries.” N’lahr frowned. “If we didn’t have Alantris to address we’d march straight to Darassus and charge the queen.”
But they couldn’t, not until any Naor invasion was stopped. She nodded as N’lahr spoke on, unusually loquacious.
“The last thing we want is for Leonara to have more time to scheme, but that’s just what she’s going to get. We must know what she’s planning with those hearthstones!” His teeth bared in a silent snarl, and then he buckled on his sword belt. He sucked in a deep breath, let it out slowly, then raised his eyes to her own. “I shouldn’t burden you with this.”
“It’s a burden we must share,” she answered. “I’m Altenerai now.”
He nodded to her and suddenly, through a subtle change in the set of his shoulders and face, she was no longer his confidant, though his manner was not unkind. “We must ready for the fight. And that means rest. You’ve a few hours before dawn. You should be able to sleep now. Sometimes it works that way.”
“What way?”
“After you’ve been up and thought or done something else for a while.”
She was very tired still, and wondered if he might be right.
He spoke on, as though he’d decided something with minimal reflection. She’d never known him to do that before. “Join me at the governor’s. For breakfast. I’ll send someone around to wake you a half hour before.”
She felt honored. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
He nodded and headed for the door. She realized that was a dismissal, and followed him out.
With so much to think about, she really only returned to her bunk to humor him, and was surprised to find herself deep asleep when the squire touched her shoulder hours later. Disappointed as she was to be awake, it was exciting to be included in N’lahr’s plans, and reassuring to learn herself still capable of sleep untroubled by dreams.
When she left the barracks with N’lahr, the sun had risen as though a normal day was come. But so would it have risen, she knew, if the Naor had laid waste to the city.
Dogs barked and carts creaked in the streets as Vedessus struggled sluggishly to rise. It was an uneven awakening after the revelries of the previous night. Many houses still were shuttered, but scattered bands of people lay in the parks; a distant few staggered homeward in a happy haze.
Vedessi buildings were built mostly of tile, brick, clay plaster, and stone, wood being a rarer commodity on the plains, and few rose more than two stories. It was a city of low hills and beautifully tended gardens, arranged for the most part in straight lanes. The windmills that drove the pumps and other machinery soared above all, facing into the west wind. The city had a spare, geometric beauty, especially in comparison to the ornate artistry everywhere evident in Darassus. After having been away for so long, she saw the place with new eyes.
A few unaccompanied children played in the streets, chasing each other with sticks and arguing about who should play Altenerai and whom Naor. At the sight of the solitary Altenerai pair striding purposely along, the youngsters stopped cold to regard them with naked awe. One girl who couldn’t have been more than five came stiffly to attention and offered a perfect salute with a grimy hand.
Elenai heard the group jabbering excitedly after N’lahr returned it.
An occasional adult shopkeeper, busying to open their concern, stared at her companion. They didn’t try to interact. Elenai could see in their faces and prayerful motions the undiminished reverence she’d noted the night before—his presence was proof of divine intervention in their lives. No matter the mundane details of treachery, hardship, skill, and sheer luck that underpinned the miracle, the Gods had, for them, simply sent N’lahr back from the dead in the city’s hour of need.
She realized with a start that once again she’d neglected her morning prayer, and swore to herself that she’d stop forgetting. With their rushed schedule in the last week, there’d been so little time for so many things, but that didn’t fully excuse her inattentive behavior. She wondered if Kalandra’s casual blasphemy about the Gods’ early activities had unconsciously influenced her own actions.
The Vedessi palace lay just off the city’s center, an ugly, flat-faced building of four stories with six separate towers. One tower climbed from each of its four corners, one rose from its front entrance, and a thick one, with a bell, half again the height of the others, stuck up from its center. The building’s brick had been painted a startling light blue offset with elaborately painted tiles around the openings. It had always struck Elenai as garish, although it did set the building apart.
“This has bothered me for years,” N’lahr said, indicating the palace.
“The color?”
“No. The design. Someone with an idea of defense but lack of actual practice. Look: arrow slit windows but too many gates and doors. Any decent force that breached the city walls wouldn’t have difficulty taking the palace. There’s not even a protective wall.”
She’d grown up with the building, but immediately understood and agreed with N’lahr’s assessment, wondering why she hadn’t noticed before. A seat of government should serve as a fallback position for as many critical assets as possible. N’lahr was a tactical genius, true, but she was certainly capable of noticing such deficiencies herself.
Once beyond the gate guards, a servant conducted them past expensive wooden doorframes and paneling to a sunny oval dining room with a small table. The servant told them the governor would be along shortly, and Elenai scanned the room while two attendants in dark livery kept their eyes forward resolutely. Five leaded windows looked into what was likely an interior courtyard, admitting light but little detail. Beautifully scrolled panel doors were interspersed with built-in drawers on the cabinet opposite them. Most likely the pale green tablecloth, plates, and utensils now adorning the oval table were normally stored within. Six chairs were in place, although there were settings only for four. She guessed N’lahr had sent a messenger ahead informing the governor he’d be bringing a guest. A door stood closed on either end of the room, one by which they’d entered and one behind the head of the table, where the most ornately scrolled chair back was positioned.
While the two Altenerai waited, a small army of servants arrived in waves. The first group set small plinths before the windows to support vases holding blooming blackthorn and rockrose. Next came the food, borne on lidded bronze platters, and drink, carried in slim white pitchers set along the cabinet’s surface.
Silently the servants had come, silently they left, and it was Elenai’s stomach that intruded into the quiet, for the aroma of fresh baked bread, cooked eggs, and some kind of sweet sauce awakened her hunger. She longed to reach for the lids.
N’lahr smiled conspiratorially at her, an unguarded human moment broken by the opening of the door behind the table head. Elenai looked up expectantly. A fox-faced older gentleman entered, dressed in a dark red robe threaded in silver. He nodded politely and stood to one side of the door.
Only then did Governor Verena join them, smiling warmly.
Elenai had seen her several times over the years, most recently last night. Verena had risen to rule the decade before, proving her competence through many challenges. In the light of day, Elenai saw that age had thickened her middle even as it had softened her squarish face. This morning, her gray-streaked auburn hair was piled loosely behind her, cascading to rounded shoulders. Her eyes were well and darkly lined, her cheeks lightly rouged, and a low neckline revealed generous cleavage. She wore a light blue dress reminiscent of the color of khalats, probably meant to honor the Altenerai, although it emphasized her eyes as well.
She advanced to extend hands to the commander, her dress hem swirling about pretty ankles. “Alten N’lahr! It’s a pleasure to see you again so soon.” Her voice was strong and clear.
“Likewise.” He briefly touched fingertips with her, his beneath hers, then bowed his head respectfully. She didn’t offer her hands to Elenai, but nodded, and Elenai lowered her head.
“A pleasure to see you again, Elenai Dartaan. And let me again offer my congratulations upon your well-earned promotion.”
“Thank you.”
“This is my chief counselor, Alusus Garl.”
The gray-haired man nodded solemnly. “It is a pleasure,” he said. Elenai suspected she had been introduced to him last night, but much after the battle was blurred to her recollection. There had been so many people who wished to greet them all.
Verena bade them to be seated, and they took their chairs, Alusus on her right hand, N’lahr on her left. Elenai had been placed nearer N’lahr than Garl. Quickly, the liveried servants stepped forward to serve the food—steamed greens, pan fried eggs, fried tubers seasoned with cinnamon, and fresh fried trout coated in bread crumbs.
It was all Elenai could do to keep from shoveling it in like a teenaged boy. Though the impromptu feasting last night had been excellent, she hadn’t dined this well in months, not since she had helped Elik celebrate his twenty-third birthday. Idly, she wondered if he was still in Darassus, and what her friend had heard of her. Would he believe her a traitor, allied to the purported murderer of Asrahn, Master of Squires?
Verena was eying N’lahr over her cup. “How long has it been since you’ve had a day off, Alten?”
“A long while,” he admitted, and Elenai noted that the governor didn’t address him as commander. A slip, or a slight? He continued, “Today won’t be a respite, either. There’s much to be done.”
“I hope you have the time at least for a leisurely breakfast. And that my company doesn’t require too much work.” She eyed him through her lashes as she sipped again.
Elenai stared. Was the woman flirting with him?
“On the contrary.” N’lahr paused to butter a slice of steaming hot bread. “But I can’t tarry long. I’m sure you’ve received the same news as I and appreciate the need for haste.”
A smile pulled at the corner of Verena’s mouth. “Are you always so serious? Do you hurry so quickly from your lovers in the field?”
N’lahr’s eyebrows rose. He actually sounded caught off guard. “In the field?”
“Do you rush from Kyrkenall?” she explained, as if it were obvious. “Or do you favor the lovely Elenai?” Verena glanced over at her before appraising him once more.
Elenai blinked a little in surprise and resumed chewing her greens. It had never occurred to her anyone would assume her involved with Commander N’lahr.
N’lahr returned her gaze with a level expression of his own. “Elenai is but newly promoted and it would be inappropriate to have a relationship with a subordinate,” he said, which should have been blindingly obvious, but it intrigued Elenai that he dismissed the idea with that argument and no other. “And Kyrkenall isn’t my lover.” He added the last as if he’d addressed the matter before.
“I thought you went everywhere together. And he’s more beautiful than I am. Surely.” Verena bent to cut one of the eggs into smaller pieces.
“You undervalue your charms,” N’lahr said.
If she’d been astonished at Verena’s flirtations, she was even more surprised by the frank appraisal in the commander’s response.
Verena smiled knowingly. When she spoke once more, she adopted a heavier tone. “You’re here to convince me to send soldiers and supplies with you to The Fragments. But you know I must always keep the needs of my people foremost in my thoughts. What if the Naor return while our strongest sons and daughters are gone? If they go with you, how would my soldiers fare against a force said to be many times their number?” She paused, her eyes shining. There was nothing remotely playful in her manner now. “Why should Vedessus weaken rather than fortify itself? Especially since, by your own report, we face invasion from without and corruption from within our own alliance.”
Every one of those was a legitimate question, as much as it annoyed Elenai to hear them.
N’lahr appeared lost in thought.
Garl, silent apart from the clatter of his cutlery until that moment, spoke with a flat authority. “Vedessus is recovering from a siege and can ill afford expenditures on behalf of its neighbors.”
As N’lahr seemed disinclined to speak, Elenai offered, “If Alantris falls, the Naor will use The Fragments to regroup and resupply and then resume their attack on Vedessus. We’re all safer if we drive them from our lands now.”
Verena addressed her directly. “Why can’t you just fight the Naor in Alantris with another herd of eshlack?”
Elenai should have guessed that would come up. But before she could manage an explanation, N’lahr answered. “Because that tactic would fail. The circumstances here were unique and cannot be duplicated in The Fragments. We struck at night with no warning over plains and at great speed. The few Naor who escaped the battle will tell others how they were defeated, so precautions will be taken against a similar attack. And cattle cannot be moved quickly over forested hills and through river valleys undetected all the way to the walls of Alantris.
“As to your other concerns,” he continued. “You know my reputation; the soldiers of Vedessus will not be wasted in battle.” He held Verena’s eyes a moment before adding. “Vedessus remembers its own straits, only yesterday, and will soon know that Alantris finds itself in the same situation today. Your people will want to fight. And they’ll want their leaders to make the way clear.”
Verena sat against the back of her chair and brushed absently at her necklace, her expression thoughtful. “Share your plan. What dangers would my people face?”
“I require eight hundred of your foot troops and all three hundred of your cavalry. That will leave a minimal but adequate defense should a Naor force return, though I intend to keep them busy around Alantris. A third of the cavalry will be sent forward with Altenerai scouts, and the main force will approach through the Cenahra Pass to minimize chances of detection. My chief concern is supplies. I will need approximately one hundred wagons of rations and fodder. As for my plans against the enemy, those will be determined once I understand their disposition.”
Elenai forgot to eat. She was astounded that N’lahr had worked all that out in the handful of hours she’d managed only sleep and worry. The governor nodded gravely. “There’s another matter I wish to discuss. One hardly insignificant.”
“You refer to the queen’s betrayal.”
“That’s not at all how I refer to it,” Verena said bluntly. “I understand you believe your freedom was traded for Naor hearthstones, but it sounds as though Commander Denaven was the offender, not Queen Leonara. He tried to kill you and lied for years to maintain his hold on power. And he’s already paid for his crimes. You need further evidence if you wish to prosecute your claims against the queen.”
N’lahr put down his fork. “Even if Leonara were ignorant of the conspiracy to imprison me, its existence without her knowledge hardly speaks well of her management. She sat in Darassus for seven years staring into hearthstones while Mazakan built up his armies and our own defenses were left to rot. She pulled our brightest mages out of public service to aid her obsession. She remained unengaged while our Master of Squires…” He seemed choked for a moment as if struggling to speak the words “… Asrahn, was murdered and our best defenders divided in a misplaced manhunt against one of their own. Denaven’s hunt for Kyrkenall resulted in the death not only of several promising squires, but Belahn the Bear and Decrin of the Shining Shield.”
Verena sipped from her cup, watching steadily.
“Leonara’s attention has been focused inward, not outward to the care of her charges. She has all but abandoned any day-to-day governance of Erymyr, much less the realms, because she is consumed with the study of magic. Specifically, the study of the hearthstones, aided by her Mage Auxiliary. And need I remind you, Denavan was her choice to replace me.”
“It seems to come again and again to hearthstones.” The governor set the cup on its dish. “While much of what you say is opinion or speculation, the queen’s infatuation with the stones has been noted by the governors and members of the Erymyran Council. And the secrecy she enforces around that subject is a source of growing irritation.” Verena toyed with her fork, but only Garl showed any remaining interest in the meal as he precisely moved carefully chosen bites to his mouth. “What would you have me do?” she asked, watching through her lashes.
“Gather the governors with the council,” N’lahr said simply. “And replace the queen. For the safety of the realms. Her flawed judgment has endangered the lives of every man, woman, and child in every one of the five realms. If not for her disastrous choices, the Naor would never have come close to your walls, or those of Alantris.”
“If I champion your charges,” Verena said slowly, “I place my own position at risk.”
“There are few rewards without risk,” N’lahr said. “But someone must step into the void the queen’s absence will create.”
“Indeed,” Verena said with a shrewd smile. Elenai understood that she’d arrived at that conclusion long since. “And which of the many hopefuls will receive the blessing of the Altenerai commander?”
Gods. Was that what she had been angling for this entire time? Elenai looked first to one, then the other, watching the way their eyes locked. And she realized that the governor had finally referred to N’lahr by his appropriate title.
“I am no queen maker,” N’lahr said. “But I will support someone with a proven record of sound judgment. Someone who sees beyond the border of her own realm to weigh the people of all our lands equally. Someone who is not afraid to make the right choices, even when they come with challenges.”
The two, governor and general, looked at each other for a long time. Elenai barely breathed while Garl continued calmly eating. Finally Verena signaled for an attendant and indicated her cup. As the young man hurried forward, the governor addressed Garl. “Give him what he asks. Ensure that he receives the best wagons. Market price only please.”
Garl bowed his head. “As you command.”
“All needs be done swiftly. Commander N’lahr will seek to leave on the morrow.” She looked across the table at N’lahr. “While it is true that we store surplus for times of need, Vedessi stock is not inexhaustible. If the winter is hard this year this expenditure will be felt keenly by my people. I understand that some supplies were recovered from the Naor. I expect you’ll use what you can of those?”
“I’m accustomed to making the best use of what’s at hand,” N’lahr said.
“Yes,” Verena said with a faint smile. “You’ve ably demonstrated that. I’ll contact my fellow governors on the subject of the queen and the charges against her. It would be helpful to have a written account from you, signed by your own hand. I’ll include it in the dispatches.”
“I’ll dictate one and have copies sent to you.”
“Most excellent.”
The rest of the meal passed pleasantly enough, and consisted mostly of small talk. Verena inquired about Elenai’s family and what her future plans might be. For all that, she devoted most of her attention to N’lahr, who proved more gifted a conversationalist than Elenai had expected. As she listened to him she realized that apart from his tactical brilliance, one of the secrets of his battlefield success might be the acute way he could read people and adjust his conversation.
It wasn’t that he was facile; he seemed uninclined to present himself as other than he was. But somehow he was capable of presenting a different footing and to meet those he spoke with on ground he used to his advantage. This he had done with Verena, and Elenai began to wonder if he had done likewise with herself at some point previous. Probably he had, and she simply hadn’t noticed.
As they left the palace, they discovered a city better wakened, although the streets still looked emptier than usual this time of morning.
“How do you think that went?” Elenai asked.
“Almost as expected,” N’lahr said.
So apparently he’d anticipated both Verena’s initial objections as well as her reactions, and passed it off as nothing remarkable. Typical of him, she thought. “Do you really want her to … take over for the queen?” Somehow phrasing it in a different way sounded less traitorous.
“She’s intelligent and decisive.” N’lahr seemed to read her feelings. “You don’t like her.”
“I’ve always respected her, but I didn’t realize what a game player she was.” And the governor had been flirting with N’lahr, which Elenai had only recently discovered she found bothersome, even as she recognized her reaction as petty and a little ridiculous.
N’lahr shrugged minutely. “She cares about her people and is involved with their welfare. She makes wise choices on their behalf. And her motives are less opaque than the queen’s.”
“That wouldn’t take much.”
“True,” N’lahr agreed, then promptly changed the subject. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to speak to you about. I’d like you to look at the shards of the hearthstone I was trapped in.”
His customary calm was in place, but somehow strained. “Is there something wrong?”
“Do you think,” he said, then hesitated a moment. He cleared his throat and continued. “… that there’s such a thing as hearthstone sickness?”
“The power’s addictive.”
He shook his head slowly. “That’s not what I mean. I think my years trapped inside of one might have altered me.”
“Altered you?” she repeated in alarm. “How?”
He eyed her soberly as they turned onto the street that led to the barracks. “It’s hard to describe. But it’s getting worse.”