“Wait,” Dain said quickly. “Let the people see you—”

“You will make a good king.” And with that, Tobeszijian sank into the soil.  A feeling of peace swept through Dain, and he understood that his father was finally at rest.

There was no need to grieve, but still Dain bowed his head and placed his hands on the bark of the gnarled roots atop the ground. He knew that he would never again see visions of his father. He understood that Tobeszijian’s spirit wandered no longer between worlds. He had gone to the third world now, perhaps to be reunited with his wife and daughter. And Dain was left alone to build his own life anew.

“Look!” someone shouted. “What is that? Look!”

Torchlight suddenly flared from behind Dain, shining on him.  Frowning, he rose to his feet and turned around. But the people were not looking at him now. Instead they were staring at the branches above his head, pointing and shouting in amazement.

Tipping back his head, Dain stared at one of the lower branches, for it had leafed out despite the cold and snow. Suddenly it was green with renewed life.  Astonished, he pressed his hand to the bark. He could now feel the low, quiet, slumberous life of a tree in dormancy.

“Thod’s bones,” he said, laughing a little. “It lives again.” The old priest came up beside him, and even Samderaudin drew near as though to listen. “It is the way of all eldin, your majesty,” the priest said with shining eyes. “Where they dwell, so do all things know life and renewal. The eldin can bring even dead wood back to life. ‘Tis their gift.”

Dain frowned at him, his momentary joy sobered. He looked past the priest to the crowd of men standing a short distance away. Even the Mandrians had fallen quiet, content to stare, many of them drawing the sign of the Circle on their breasts.

“I am more eldin than man,” Dain said, and his voice rang out loudly enough for all to hear. “My birth caused a great division in our land. There were many then who did not want to serve an eldin king. What say you now?” They burst into cheers, roaring his name, and Dain had his answer.  Several days later, Dain stood in one of his palace’s state chambers. Although the room was minimally furnished, it was warmed by a fire burning in a colorful tile stove. Dain wore a tunic of burgundy and a narrow gold circlet adorned his brow. Before him stood Lady Pheresa, still very thin and pale, but recovered fully.

She wore a borrowed gown of hard-spun wool and a fur cloak of sables tipped with ermine. Her reddish-gold hair was pulled back neatly. A dainty gold Circle hung at her throat. Her brown eyes were grave, for King Verence planned to leave Nether this day. Gavril’s body, wrapped in a shroud, and carefully frozen so that it could make the long journey, was being taken home for state burial in a tomb at Savroix.

It seemed there had been one interruption after another, but at last this morning Dain had won a few minutes in private with the lady. Now that she was here, and they were alone, with even Lord Omas standing outside at the door, Dain found himself with little to say.

She watched him, her eyes brimming with many emotions. Gratitude was perhaps the most evident, and the one he least wanted to see.

“Thank you for saving my life,” she said. Her quiet, melodic voice, once able to send desire racing through his veins, now sounded too compliant, too quiet.  “Words seem inadequate to express what I feel. I owe you everything.” “No,” he said stiffly, finding himself tongue-tied and awkward. “There is no debt, my lady. From the bottom of my heart I regret every day that you suffered.”

“My suffering was not your fault,” she said. She tilted her head to one side and studied him for a long moment. “You came to me once, with your heart in your hands, and I treated you ill. I regret that now.”

Heat stole into his face, and he swiftly averted his gaze from hers. He felt choked. How many times had he dreamed of such a moment, when she would turn to him this way? And now . . . and now, he did not want her. Suddenly, as though chains had dropped from him, he knew the truth. He no longer loved her, if he ever had. A boy’s infatuation was a far cry from a man’s love. She’d been a dream for him, but now he was awake.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he replied, anxious to end this embarrassing interview.  “We seem always to be at cross-purposes. Your gratitude will pass quickly enough. Do not mistake it for some other emotion.”

She frowned, drawing in her breath sharply. “You no longer love me.” Her bluntness surprised him. Before her illness, she would have never spoken so plainly. Yet the only thing to do was to offer her the same directness. “Nay, my lady, except in friendship.”

“Oh.” Tears shimmered briefly in her eyes, and she half-turned away from him. “ ‘Tis a pity,” she said with bravado. “We could have united Mandria and Nether in an invincible alliance, two great kingdoms joined against—” “Nether is not great at present,” he said swiftly. “There is much to rebuild.” “And you do not want my help,” she replied softly, her brown eyes lifting to his.

He returned her gaze steadily but said nothing.

She blushed. “I was a fool that night of the Harvest Ball, so ambitious and stupid. I wanted to be queen, and Gavril was my means to that. Alas, although Gavril is gone, I still want to be queen.”

“Are you not heir now?” Dain asked.

She stared at him wide-eyed before she sighed. “No one believes I am capable.  The court despises me. The king used to pay me little heed. And now with Gavril gone, he hardly notices me at all.”

Taking her delicate hands in his, Dain felt as though he could crush her fragile bones if he were not careful. Yet despite her apparent frailty, there was a new fire and purpose in her gaze that he’d never seen before.  Very gently he kissed her on the cheek. “Make Verence notice you. Take hold of what is due you and do not relinquish it. You are wise and good, far more clever than anyone at Savroix has given you credit for. And were you not very tough and courageous, you could not have survived this.”

She gave him a tremulous smile.

“Stop hiding your true self, Pheresa,” he said, “and show people your steel.” “I will,” she said softly, and withdrew her hands from his. Her chin lifted. “I will.”

“Then we part as friends?” he asked.

Her smile brightened as she curtsied. “Friends. I will never forget you, Faldain of Nether.”

He bowed in return. “Nor I you, Pheresa of Mandria.” Soon thereafter, he met with King Verence. Grief-stricken, his eyes reddened and sad, Verence was departing Nether today while there was a favorable break in the weather.

Because of Dain’s tremendous liking and admiration for Verence, he deeply felt his suffering now. Verence had genuinely loved his son, loved and spoiled him, loved and forgiven too many faults.

Quietly Dain said, “I owe you a tremendous debt which I can never fully repay.

But tell me how I may try.”

Verence frowned. His graying blond hair fell softly to his shoulders, held back by a narrow crown. His coat of arms, embroidered in gold thread, glittered on the front of his purple surcoat. “Nay,” he said gruffly, withdrawing his hand.  “Do not speak to me of debts. You owe none.”

“But you saved the battle.”

“You owe none!” Verence said sharply. “I came to pay Muncel’s ransom demand with my sword, and by Thod, I did so. My only regret is that I could not finish him myself.”

“That duty was mine,” Dain said simply. “I am sorry you must depart in such sorrow.”

Verence frowned. “I came to bring my son home. That will I do.”

“I wish it did not end this way,” Dain said.

“You are kindhearted as always,” Verence told him, summoning a wan smile. “We both know how Gavril treated you. What he was. What he was becoming. He would have made a bad king. Alas, Dain, I feel old today. I should have sired more sons.”

“You still have a successor,” Dain said quietly, “if you will but see her qualities.”

Verence looked at him in startlement. “Pheresa?” he asked.  “She’s your niece, a member of the royal house. Do you think Mandria would not accept a queen in her own right?”

“By Thod,” Verence said softly, thinking it over. But then he frowned. “Meddling in my affairs of state already, are you?”