“Lord—”

“No, let me say this. I have nearly lost you twice now. Perhaps I have been too strict with you, as I was with Hilard. Had you been more sure of your place here, you would not have misunderstood me that day of the contest.” Dain was astonished to hear Lord Odfrey apologizing to him. “Lord, don’t! It is I who must ask your pardon for—” Lord Odfrey met his gaze, and Dain’s sentence faltered to a halt. “Would it please you to stay at Thirst, to one day hold it after me as chevard?” “Think on it,” Lord Odfrey said as though afraid that Dain would refuse. “I have told you too much too fast. You need not answer me now.” Dain struggled to swallow the lump in his throat, wanting to give his answer, but too overwhelmed to find the words he needed.

Lord Odfrey stood staring down at Dain. “If you agree, the king is willing to hear my petition. This paper almost guarantees that he will grant it.” Dain frowned. “Lord, you do me great honor. But will you not suffer by naming an eld into your family?”

Lord Odfrey shook his head. “I think not. Indeed, I care not. Mine is an old family, well established in honest service. Court politics have never interested me. Besides, the king does not hold the same views as his son, although I hope your bravery has changed Prince Gavril’s opinions on many things. King Verence remembers the old days, and old alliances.”

Dain thought of his vision the night of the trial, of the black-haired king who had appeared to warn him and who had called him “Faldain of the Nether.” The missing prince of that troubled realm. He shivered, afraid to think Sulein’s guess might be right. Dain thought back to the night he had dreamed himself drowning in water and a girl had summoned him forth to her bidding. Had she not also called him Faldain?

He frowned, wondering now if he should not tell Lord Odfrey of these things and ask his advice. But seeing the hope and hesitation tangled up in Lord Odfrey’s face, Dain could not bring himself to speak of it. He had no proof, and in himself he was not sure. It seemed too great and wondrous an identity to wish for. And if he made such a claim for himself, he might lose Lord Odfrey’s offer altogether. No—Jorb, who was always practical, had taught Dain to always take what was sure, never what might be.

Dain looked up at the man whom he so admired, whom he’d wished could really be his father, and who had now extended that tremendous honor to him.  He smiled shyly. “Lord, I would be honored past all I can say to—to be your ward.”

Lord Odfrey let out his breath explosively and grinned. “Truly?”

“Aye.”

They gripped hands again, and tears of happiness misted Lord Odfrey’s eyes. Dain could hardly meet his gaze, for Lord Odfrey shone with such pride and affection that he felt dazzled.

“My son,” Lord Odfrey said softly, and his voice shook with emotion.  Dain thought of the home and family he’d lost less than a year past. Now he’d gained both again—not the same ones, of course, but perhaps almost as good.  Perhaps—except for Thia—better.

He drew a deep breath of happiness and looked up at Lord Odfrey. “My father.”