The town of Malm looked like a fairy tale, nestled in a valley surrounded by mountains.
At the top of the pass, Syrriah and Mieran and their Companions paused to admire the view.
Lush green grass filled the bowl, blooming with butter-yellow and snow-white flowers. Syrriah breathed in cold, clear mountain air, but she could imagine the flowers’ sweet scent. The sky above was blue with just wisps of white clouds traveling through. The small city, with red-roofed buildings clustered cozily together, couldn’t have looked more inviting.
The mountain passes would be open for only a few more weeks at most. It was two days past Harvest Festival. Syrriah was sorry to have missed the celebration, but their previous stop had taken longer than they had anticipated.
The main purposes of Harvest Fairs was to give merchants a final chance to sell their wares before winter drove them into their workshops to create more goods, and to give farmers a venue to sell the last of their harvests. Additionally, it allowed everyone to stock up for the coming winter, as well as see friends and family who had gathered from surrounding areas.
That said, Harvest Fairs included entertainment—jugglers and musicians and dancers and more—as well as excellent food. She would have enjoyed the festivities.
More importantly, Syrriah and Mieran would have been there earlier to investigate the disappearance of a fourteen-year-old girl, the information brought to them by a messenger on the road.
On both sides of the road, the scrubby bushes were dark green with dots of red berries. The chill air bit Syrriah’s cheeks. Below, she could see trees turning colors, crimson and pumpkin and gold, and her heart lifted.
Autumn: a time of celebration, bonfires, and love both young and new. (Well, the latter was true at most celebrations.)
But this harvest time had brought something darker.
As they descended into the valley, the clear mountain chill faded into a crisp, still cool breeze. The last of the flowers stubbornly held on to their colors, purple-blues and honey-yellows. Malm was primarily a mining town, but it also had goats that produced the sweetest milk, legendary throughout Valdemar. They grazed on the lower hills, the bells around their necks clanking as they bleated and tore the last of the green grass with their blunt teeth.
“We’ll talk to everyone, but we won’t pass judgment until we have as much information as we can gather,” she told Mieran. “The most important thing is finding the girl, safe and unharmed.”
Mieran nodded. “Safe and unharmed is our goal, but we have to be prepared for the worst.”
Mieran was about the same age as Syrriah’s eldest son, who was also a Herald, along with her eldest daughter; her other two children were Herald Trainees. Would they have such a bleak outlook? Mieran wasn’t wrong, but Syrriah chose to focus on the best scenario, not the worst.
“We have procedures in place for any eventuality,” she said. “But it’s best to show a positive front. Even when we’re called to pass judgment, it is our duty to look at the background and reasoning.”
“If reason is even involved,” Mieran said.
Syrriah felt the weight on her shoulders. Finding a missing girl, keeping up hope that she was alive and, if so, unharmed. Training a new Herald. And being a Herald in her own right, called late in life, at a time when some Heralds stepped back from riding Circuit and found work at the Collegium.
But being Chosen after her husband had died and all four of her children—all Chosen in their own right before her—drove her to continue on Circuit, as all new Heralds did.
She didn’t want special treatment. It had been awkward enough doing her Trainee Circuit with Joral for a year. Almost everyone they met assumed she was the Senior Herald based on the fact she had been a good twenty years older, despite her wearing Herald Trainee Grays. At least now she was the Senior Herald, supervising her own trainee.
Mieran was a fox-faced woman with a pointed chin, pale skin, and startling blue eyes. Her mind was as sharp as her features. She was thin, tiny, but with wiry strength, especially with a bow (Syrriah’s own strength) but also with a sword. She wore her long, straight black hair in braids looped around her head like a crown.
Syrriah had her own hair, brown shot through with silver, cropped short, both for ease and age. She never understood any Herald, male or female, who stuck to the conceit of long, flowing hair or even dangling plaits—not only was care on the road difficult, but more importantly, in a fight, it was a clear disadvantage. Mieran, although choosing to keep her hair long, at least had it safely out of the way.
When they arrived at the outskirts of the town, the vestiges of the holiday were apparent. Trampled grass showed where rows of stalls had stood, livestock had clearly been penned in certain fields as evidenced by the churned-up mud. Gourds and garlands were still strewn by the roadside, and as they passed a scatter of bruised apples that had dropped from someone’s basket, Cefylla turned her head.
:They would be sweet,: she said wistfully in Syrriah’s mind.
“You’ll have better food at the stables,” Syrriah returned. “Leave them for the animals who don’t know where their next meal is coming from.”
Cefylla snorted, sounding more horselike than Companion-like. :You are so wise!: she teased.
“I was wise before I met you, but I’ll grant you’ve taught me a few things, dearheart.”
Syrriah, Mieran, and Lord Parr, who oversaw the city, stood in a field dotted with the remains of Harvest Fair bonfires. Rings of stones curled around gray ash and charred black logs. The scents of smoke and livestock still permeated.
“You know how it is on Fair nights,” Lord Parr said. “The cider flows freely, and lovers are encouraged to sneak away for trysts. Jonquil came with her friends—I’ve spoken with the lot of them—and they never saw her leave. It was only when the celebration waned that they noticed she was gone.”
“Was anyone else gone by then?” Syrriah asked.
He squinted, thinking. He was a sandy-haired man in his forties, with skin tanned and ruddy, showing he spent time outdoors. Stocky but fit, he wore well-fitting but unadorned clothing. Syrriah had the sense he worked with the people of his town, rather than spending time in his manor and sending others to do his bidding. “A few said they had left earlier. I have their names. One in particular stands out.”
“How so?” Mieran cocked her head.
“Everyone says he had an interest in Jonquil, although almost everyone also says she didn’t return his interest, at least not in a romantic way,” he said. “Although he denies it, it stands to reason that he might have wanted to prevent Jonquil from leaving Malm.”
Syrriah frowned. “Was she considering leaving?”
Lord Parr scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Oh, that. I’m sorry, I thought you knew. Jonquil had been Chosen. Her Companion is in our stables, but my understanding is that Jonquil refused to speak with him.”
Lord Parr’s stables smelled of fresh hay and oiled leather. A horse nickered, and another answered; the only other sound was that of doves cooing in the rafters. Syrriah and Mieran had already dismounted, their Companions walking at their sides down the wide, sawdust-strewn dirt row between the stalls. Lord Parr clearly cared for his animals.
:Mori is eager to speak with us,: Cefylla said.
Indeed, Mori met them at the end of the row, stepping out from his stall. Companions didn’t need to be confined. If they decided to leave, it was for a good reason.
Mori explained the circumstances from his point of view. He had arrived a few days before Harvest Festival to Choose Jonquil, only to have her refuse him. She hadn’t broken their bond, but she was strong-willed and had shut him from her mind. He could only vaguely sense where she was, but he knew she was alive.
He would know if she died.
“Did she give any reason why she rejected you?” Syrriah asked.
Through Cefylla, Mori said she’d simply said she didn’t want to leave Malm. She’d seemed distressed, he added.
“Because of her romantic interest, who might not have been as unwanted as she said?” Syrriah asked, although she wasn’t really speaking to anyone in particular, human or Companion. “Or for some other reason?”
“Young love is a wayward thing,” Mieran said. “I’ve watched many of my peers turn themselves inside out over a crush.”
Mieran was young, as were her peers. Syrriah remembered her youth through the pleasant haze of years. Had she been that foolish when it came to matters of the heart? Her husband, Brant, had filled her life so completely, she wasn’t sure she accurately remembered any previous relationships. She trusted Mieran’s assessment.
“So Jonquil wanted to stay for love?”
“It sounds so,” Mieran said. “Girls of that age . . .”
“But she professed not to like this boy.” As soon as the words were out of Syrriah’s mouth, she saw her own narrow thinking. “Which might be exactly the opposite.”
The boy, Settel, lived with his family in a small but tidy house with a vegetable garden and two cats prowling the perimeter. His parents, who expressed their concern for Jonquil, were wool merchants.
Settel himself had deep brown eyes, the beginnings of a tall, broad-shouldered physique, and a crooked lower front tooth. Sitting across from Syrriah and Mieran, he clasped his hands together and admitted he had left the bonfires shortly after Jonquil had left—because, he said, he wasn’t interested in staying if she wasn’t.
“She’s beautiful,” he said of Jonquil. “I . . . don’t understand why she doesn’t like me other than just a friend.”
“I don’t know you, and I don’t know her,” Mieran said before Syrriah could speak. “I know only myself, and I can tell you this. We love who we love. Some people are friends, some are more, some are less. It’s usually not anything to do with the other person; it’s about who we are, not who you are.”
He frowned. “So what am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing,” Mieran said, and now Syrriah, impressed, let her continue. “You and Jonquil might not be the right partners for each other. Love is . . .” She turned to Syrriah, hands palm up in a gesture.
“Love is impossible to predict,” Syrriah said. “It is without reason, without logic. Beauty fades. If you base your relationship on that, it likely will fail. It’s about compatibility.”
Settel scowled now. “Of course we’re compatible. We grew up here together; our whole lives are here. I’m handsome, she’s beautiful.”
He was young, and fixated on Jonquil. He was unlikely to hear what they were saying and understand in a short time—time they didn’t have to waste.
“Maybe she just hadn’t seen that yet,” Syrriah said to placate him. “The question is, when her Companion arrived and Chose her, how did you feel?”
He spread his hands, his eyes wide. “To be Chosen is the greatest honor. My heart breaks, but of course she must go.” He glanced around, then leaned closer to them, lowering his voice. “And when I’m old enough, I’ll follow her, which will show her my devotion.”
“Settel is obsessed with Jonquil, but I don’t think he had anything to do with her disappearance,” Syrriah said as they exited the house. She breathed in the pure mountain air. It felt like a drug, filling her senses.
“I agree,” Mieran said. “Despite everything, he supported her being Chosen. With any luck, the time apart will allow his unhealthy obsession to fade.”
They had discussed his fixation on Jonquil with his parents, who already knew and had been keeping an eye on him. Jonquil’s friends had always been encouraged to tell Settel’s parents if his behavior concerned them.
“She ran from being Chosen,” Syrriah said. “Now we have to figure out where she went.”
“And if anyone helped her,” Mieran said. “Friends . . . who might have been more than friends.”
Syrriah raised an eyebrow. “You still think it’s about romance?”
“There are all kinds of love,” Mieran said. “She may not have loved Settel, but there could be someone else she loved enough that she didn’t want to leave.”
Jonquil’s parents’ reactions were unsurprising. Her mother’s face was swollen from weeping and she begged them to find her daughter. Her father, grim and stoic, put a hand on his wife’s shoulder, but she flinched away, not wanting his comfort.
Syrriah and Mieran sat down with Jonquil’s other friends, asking about how she felt about being Called, about Settel, about anything else they could think of.
One boy, Arald, flushed to the roots of his red hair so completely, his freckles nearly vanished. He was on the small side for his age, fourteen like the others.
Without intruding on his thoughts, Syrriah opened her mind and reached inside herself for her Gift of Empathy.
He was nervous or concerned about something. Which made sense; Jonquil had been his friend. But was his concern something more?
“I didn’t see her leave the bonfires,” he insisted. “There were so many people around, and it was so loud, and . . . well, the cider. We all assumed her parents had found her and she’d gone home with them. I left soon after to find the privies and then decided to go home myself.”
The other children had relayed the same basic story. From what Syrriah and Mieran gathered, none of the children in Jonquil’s circle of friends had had too much to drink, although they were technically old enough. But anything could happen in a crowd of drunken adults, including accidents and poor decisions.
Other than Settel, there was no one who would have reason to take Jonquil. Including Arald. He was upset, but all Jonquil’s friends were to varying degrees.
Syrriah and Kieran were given rooms at Lord Parr’s manor. Syrriah’s night was fitful as she pondered what to do, where to search for Jonquil, if there were anyone else they should talk to.
The next morning, the questions increased.
Arald had gone missing.
And another Companion had arrived—searching for Arald.
Lord Parr’s stables were abuzz when Syrriah and Mieran arrived. Syrriah had a mug of tea, barely sipped, and Mieran stuffed the last of the flaky pastry she’d grabbed into her mouth as they reached the wide-open, large double doors.
The horses were restless, rustling the hay in their stalls as they paced and snorting as they tossed their heads. No doubt the presence of four Companions in the middle of the block had something to do with that. The stable master and a girl dressed for riding were leading horses out to the paddock to let them run out their energy.
It was a crisp autumn morning, early enough that the sun’s angle hadn’t reached all of the frost on the grass. Syrriah hoped finding the missing children didn’t take too long; if there was an early winter storm, the passes out of Malm could get blocked.
:Naschenie is looking for the boy called Arald,: Cefylla told Syrriah, nodding at the newest Companion arrival.
“As are we now,” Syrriah said. “A message from his parents arrived only a few moments before you called me here. He left home after we spoke with him yesterday and hasn’t been seen since. He didn’t sleep at home. And it’s not the first time, apparently. The night of the bonfires, he came home just before dawn—not early like he told us.”
“I can’t imagine he’s involved with a kidnapping if he’s been Chosen,” Mieran said. Her black hair was in her customary braids but not yet wrapped around her head. The trailing plaits made her look younger somehow. “That’s not an action befitting a Herald-to-be.”
“I agree,” Syrriah said, as Cefylla and Frind, Mieran’s Companion, obviously shared that thought with the other two. “But it’s probable that the two are together. Two children running away separately in the span of a few days seems unlikely.”
“So how do we find them?” Mieran asked.
Syrriah didn’t know. She had reached out last night, but she determined that Jonquil was too far away for her Empathic Gift to reach. That meant they weren’t in Malm. Jonquil might have made it to a pass, but unless Arald had stolen a horse, he couldn’t have gotten that far.
She relayed as much to Mieran and Cefylla.
:Naschenie says she sensed something that she believes was Arald in the hills to the west,: Cefylla said. :But then she was cut off. She came from the east, so when she realized we were here, she came to us first.:
“Then we go west,” Syrriah said. “Naschenie can get us as close as possible to where she sensed Arald, and between us, we should be able to find both children. Or if they’ve moved on, hopefully we can find their trail.”
The group made a sight as they proceeded through Malm, with the four Companions’ white coats shining in the morning sun. Hearing the bells dangling from bridles, families came out of their houses to watch them pass.
Syrriah and Mieran nodded to the onlookers, and thankfully no one tried to stop them to answer questions or let the little ones pet the “pretty horses,” as young children often referred to Companions (much to the Companions’ gentle dismay).
The sun’s arc through the sky brought some warmth, but the air as they ascended grew more chill. Fallen leaves scuffed beneath the Companions’ hooves, sending up the scents of loam and decay. Soon they were beyond trees, into the scrub land, and then nearly above that.
Syrriah and Cefylla paused, and the others followed suit.
“Roads leading off from this one,” she noted.
Mieran pulled out the map of the area Lord Parr had provided. He had offered them an escort as well, but they felt another person, especially one on a regular horse, would slow them down.
“The road we’re on is the main one leading to the pass,” Mieran said, pointing up in the direction they were heading. “The others lead to mines.”
There was no visible traffic on the roads. The mines hadn’t officially closed for the winter, but work had stopped for the Harvest Fair and would be low from now until winter came.
:They could be in one of the mines,: Cefylla suggested.
“But they’d run a real risk of being found if they stayed after work resumed,” Syrriah said. Then a thought struck her, and she turned to Mieran. “Are there any closed mines? One that aren’t producing or were shut down due to hazards?”
“The map doesn’t say why mines were shut down, but it does show three in this area that are no longer operational,” Mieran said. She looked up from the map. “Am I right that we’re checking those first?”
“I have a feeling you’re not going to be a Herald Trainee very long,” Syrriah said.
The first mine was a complete cave-in at the mouth of the mine. Jonquil and Arald’s Companions strained to catch a mental glimpse of their Chosen, to no avail.
“We just have to hope this collapse is old and this isn’t the mine they’re in,” Syrriah said. “Let’s move to the next one.”
The next one was clear, and they ventured in as far as they felt safe. But no amount of calling, whether by voice or other means, produced replies. While the children could be refusing to answer, the Companions would have had some sense of their presence.
They emerged into the afternoon light. The sun was dropping behind the mountain range, bringing an early dusk. The temperature was dropping as well. They donned their wool cloaks and began the journey to the final possible closed mine.
“If we don’t find them at this mine, what do we do?” Mieran asked.
Syrriah had already been pondering that. “We didn’t bring supplies to stay out overnight, although we could manage. But I think we should return, and organize a larger group to search in the morning.”
All three mines had wooden structures at the mouth of the entrance, sturdy wooden uprights and cross beams. At this mine, boards blocked entry, and painted wooden signs had been hammered into uprights, warning that the tunnels and shafts were unstable and cave-ins were likely.
Syrriah dismounted and, in the dying light, peered at the boards blocking access. She pulled at one, and it swung down; the nails on the right had been removed, and the gap she’d created was big enough for two teenagers on the smaller side to squeeze through. Mieran might even fit.
Mieran crouched next to her and cocked her head. “I think I smell woodsmoke.”
“Let’s go get them,” Syrriah said. She had already reached out with her Empathy and felt fear.
What did they have to be afraid of, really? Jonquil had run away, as best they understood, because she had been Chosen. But the connection with a Companion was a beautiful, magical thing.
If Arald loved Jonquil, then he might fear her leaving. But the arrival of his own Companion would have changed his future, too.
Syrriah and Mieran lit lamps and leveraged more boards loose so they could enter.
However, although the tunnels might have been big enough for adult males and the mules that hauled the wagons of ore, they weren’t exactly Companion-sized.
The four Companions looked ghostly against the hills in the dark gray just before full night. Cyfella’s tail swished.
:Keep yourself safe, my dove,: she said. :And bring the children out safely.:
“I will, dearheart,” Syrriah said fondly.
She and Mieran squeezed between the boards and headed into the tunnel proper. Inside, the farther they went, the blacker the tunnel was, and their lamps felt inadequate. Even in the daytime, she mused, it would be darker than night.
Despite the mine being closed, their passage kicked up dust. Syrriah knew she’d be washing this set of Herald Whites soon. She had heard them described as “Oh, shoot me now,” because they made Heralds easier to spot. Between that and the way dirt showed, she wondered why impractical white had been chosen.
The tunnel curved slightly, one way and then the other, with side tunnels snaking off at regular intervals. The scent of woodsmoke grew, and the darkness seemed less complete.
“Jonquil, Arald!” she called out. “I’m Herald Syrriah. You’re not in any trouble, but your families—and your Companions—are worried about you.”
No reply came.
“Please let us know you’re safe and unharmed.”
Again, no reply.
She sighed, and they kept walking. A few minutes later, around a long, shallow curve, they came up on what looked to be a cave-in, rocks large and small filling the tunnel from floor to ceiling.
In front, a ring of smaller stones held the still-glowing embers of a hastily extinguished fire. Two blankets and several canvas sacks sat to one side.
There were no children in sight.
Syrriah crouched and looked in the sacks. Food, probably hastily grabbed when each children ran. Apples, dried meat, crumbs that indicated the remains of honey oat cakes. Not enough to survive on for very long. Either the mine was intended to be a temporary residence for them, or they hadn’t had much foresight—or, most likely, a combination of both.
“They couldn’t have gone that way,” Mieran said, gesturing with her lamp at the wall of rubble. “And they didn’t sneak past us.”
“They must have come back toward the entrance but ducked into a side tunnel before we passed it on our way in,” Syrriah said. Hands on her hips, she turned and surveyed the way they’d come in. “I don’t know that we have time to search every tunnel, and anyway, if we’re in one, they can duck into another. But none of us have a map to this mine, and eventually someone—or everyone—is going to get lost.”
“Or hurt,” Mieran added. “What do we do?”
They began the trek back. “One of us should stay here in case they come out,” Syrriah said. “The other should go back and organize a search party, ideally made up of people who know the mines.”
“You should go back,” Mieran said. “As Senior Herald—”
Syrriah held up her hand. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.
Ahead, a scuffling noise, then silence again.
The children were ahead of them, probably in the main tunnel.
The Heralds picked up their pace while still moving as quietly as possible.
The tunnel straightened out of a shallow bend, and the entrance came into view, a smear of black slightly lighter than the blackness of the tunnel. Syrriah couldn’t see anyone ahead of them. Her heart sank. The children must have ducked into another side tunnel, and she and Kieran had hurried right past them.
But then, outside, the jingle of bells, a cut-off shriek of surprise, and what sounded like a scuffle of hooves on the pebble-strewn ground.
As one, Syrriah and Kieran broke into a run.
When they burst outside, Syrriah’s concern turned to a laugh that she fought to keep from bubbling out.
The Companions had things well in hand. They had surrounded the two children, preventing their escape. Her Empathic Gift let her clearly feel the children’s frustration, which had temporarily overtaken their fear.
:They don’t dare duck beneath us,: Cefylla said, also sounding amused.
Now, Cefylla and Frind each stepped aside, opening the circle and revealing the children inside.
Dust smeared their faces and clothing, darkened the tips of Arald’s red hair and streaked through Jonquil’s, which was pale yellow and wisping free of its plaits. He had his arm protectively around Jonquil’s shoulders, even though she was a few inches taller than him.
“Hello,” Syrriah said. “You’ve led us on quite a chase. I’m Herald Syrriah, and this is Herald Trainee Mieran. Our Companions are Cefylla and Frind, and the other two I believe you’ve already met.”
The children glanced guiltily at the Companions who had Chosen them.
Then Jonquil raised her chin in a gesture of defiance and widened her stance, causing Arald’s arm to fall from her shoulders. “I’m not going with him,” she said, her eyes flicking back at her Companion. “I’m staying in Malm.”
“I am too,” Arald said, reaching out to grip her hand. “I won’t leave her.”
Syrriah raised her own chin. “Well,” she said, “if that’s your choice, it will be honored. But you owe it to your Companions to explain why you are rejecting them. When a Companion Chooses, a bond is made. To break that bond is like breaking a heart. If you do this, both you and they will be scarred forever.”
Syrriah and Mieran stepped away, as did their Companions, leaving the children to face their own Companions in relative privacy.
Syrriah believed the children would make the right choice. A bond with a Companion was magical, unlike anything else. It was finding a part of yourself you had never known you lacked and a relationship that would support you unconditionally. You would still feel fear and sadness, but you would never be alone with those feelings again.
After a while, the sound of hooves kicking pebbles made her and Mieran turn around.
The children and Companions had stepped forward, each Chosen standing with a hand on their Companion’s shoulder.
Jonquil had been crying; her tears had left pale streaks through the dust on her cheeks. Arald had clearly tried to stay strong, but he was swiping an arm over his own face.
They had obviously chosen to be Chosen.
And now, the truth was finally revealed.
Jonquil feared for her mother’s safety. Her father’s temper meant he frequently shouted at her mother and sometimes hit her; Jonquil didn’t want to leave her mother alone with him. The only other person who knew was Arald, her best friend, who had pledged to defend her and her mother.
So, Jonquil had run away and hidden from Mori in the hopes that he would return to Haven without her. Arald had followed suit.
“I know your mother may feel ashamed, possibly believing it’s her fault,” Syrriah said gently. “But none of it is her fault—that lies with your father. We have laws in place about this, laws that will be enforced. Your mother need never fear your father again.”
They rode down to Malm, the Companions surefooted even in the darkness, and went straight to Lord Parr’s manor house. Messages were sent to the children’s parents.
By the time they had their Companions unsaddled, groomed, and fed—Jonquil and Arald both doing a fine job with Syrriah and Kieran’s assistance—all four parents had arrived.
Jonquil’s mother burst into tears and gathered her filthy daughter in her arms. Jonquil’s father stood near them, a hand on his daughter’s back, his expression unreadable. Arald’s parents took turns hugging him, and then his father—who clearly had shared his coloring with Arald—kept ruffling Arald’s hair, sending up little puffs of dust.
Lord Parr’s chatelaine would be displeased with the gray marks smeared on the furniture, too, but it was too late to change that.
Syrriah and Kieran explained how Jonquil and Arald had been Chosen and what that meant for them, just in case they didn’t understand the deep importance. All the parents seemed delighted—even Jonquil’s father said he was proud of her.
Because of the questionable weather ahead, the children would sleep in their homes tonight and would have only the next day to say their goodbyes. The four would leave before dawn the day after that, in order to get through the pass and down to the first hamlet where they could rest for the night.
Before everyone left, however, Lord Parr asked to speak privately with Jonquil and her parents. They went to another room, the door closing behind them.
When they returned, Jonquil’s mother looked shaken and scared, and Jonquil’s father wasn’t with them. Jonquil and her mother left the manor with their arms around one another. Arald gravely thanked Lord Parr before he accompanied his parents home.
They took the eastern pass, Malm shrinking behind them as they climbed, then disappearing as they started their descent. The children were alternately excited, nervous, and then silent, although whether they were listening to their Companions or lost in their own thoughts wasn’t clear.
Several days later, they parted ways. The children headed to Haven while Syrriah and Mieran had more places scheduled on their Circuit before they would return for the Midwinter celebrations.
“I wonder if their friendship will grow into something more,” Mieran mused, watching the newly Chosen ride away.
“Does it matter?” Syrriah asked. “There are so many forms of love, and a friendship like the one they have is priceless.”