“Bad enough that Hulda vanished,” Selenay said, more than annoyed—angered, in fact—at herself for letting the woman escape almost literally out of her own hand. “I meant to have someone question her under the Truth Spell about ‘my lord’; even though I don’t think she would have been able to tell us much. But Kyril has discovered that the immigration records on her have vanished as well.”

“Bright Havens! Then we may never learn who she was working with. According to Skif, the man she spoke with was always hooded and masked, and he doubts she even knew who he was,” Talia was troubled; more troubled than she was willing to admit. “But is she likely to give us further problems?”

“I doubt it. What could she do, after all? Even Melidy is recovering—as much as she can.”

“That’s very good to hear,” Talia sighed with relief. “Then whatever that drug was, it isn’t going to have any lasting effects?”

“The Healers say not. And I can’t tell you how grateful I am to hear that you seem to have cured Elspeth’s fear of Companions.”

“It’s rather remarkable how it vanished when Hulda did,” Talia remarked dryly. “It didn’t take more than a few visits to Rolan and the others to cure it. She adores them now.”

“I’d noticed,” Selenay replied with a wry twist of her mouth. “Especially after Elspeth suddenly decided she wanted to share my afternoon rides with Caryo again. That gives me a thought. I know you’re busy, more so than ever before, but could you spare me an hour or so a week?”

Talia sighed. “I’ll make the time, somehow. Why?”

“I’d like you to take Talamir’s place at Council.”

Talia choked. “What? Now? Why?”

“Why not? You’ll have to take it sooner or later. I’d like you to get used to the machinations going on, and I’d like the Councilors to get used to seeing you there. You needn’t say anything during the sessions at all, but you just might see something that I wouldn’t, that would be useful to know.”

“What could I possibly see?”

“Perhaps nothing—but perhaps a great deal. Besides, this will give you a certain amount of protection. Having you at my Council table will make it very clear that I will not ignore attempts to harm you just because you’re not a ‘real’ Herald yet.”

“May I make a condition?”

“Certainly.”

“I’d like Elspeth with me; that way she won’t feel left out, and it will show her more clearly than anything I could tell her that the job of reigning is work.”

“I agree—and I would never have thought of that.”

“That’s not true,” Talia protested.

“It is, and you know it. And since you’re acting as Queen’s Own, you might as well call me by my given name. I’m getting tired of being ‘highnessed’ and ‘majestied.’ To you, I am just Selenay.”

“Yes, maj—Selenay,” Talia replied, returning the Queen’s smile.

“The next Council meeting is just after the noon meal, two days from now. Till then?”

Elspeth had arrived promptly for Talia’s arms-lesson with Alberich, and thereafter never missed one. The child seemed to be fascinated by the different styles the Armsmaster was training them in. The rest of the trainees, warned in advance that Elspeth would be watching, went about their normal activities with only a hint of stiltedness. After a few moments, they began pausing now and again for a nod or a friendly word with the child, attempting to act as if she were just another trainee.

Before very long, they no longer had to act. It seemed natural to accept her as one of them.

Elspeth was a silent observer for a week or two when Alberich evidently decided he had an idea he wished to try. And in a fashion typical to Alberich, he did so without telling Talia about it beforehand.

When he’d finished with Talia, his eye lighted on Elspeth, seemingly by accident—though Talia was well aware that where lessons were concerned nothing Alberich did was by accident. “You—child!” he barked. “Come here!”

Talia saw Elspeth’s chin begin to tighten and her nose to tilt up—a sure sign that she was about to revert to her old behavior. She managed to catch the girl’s eye and made what Elspeth had taken to calling the “Royal Awful” face. Elspeth giggled and fingered her bracelet, all haughtiness evaporated, and she obeyed Alberich with commendable docility.

“Look, all of you,” he said, giving a short practice blade to her. “At this age, she has learned no bad habits so there is nothing for her to unlearn. She has more flexibility than an acrobat, and she’ll learn more quickly than any three of you put together. Name, child?”

“Elspeth, sir.”

He demonstrated one of the primary exercises for her. “Can you do that?”

A tiny frown between her brows, Elspeth did her best to imitate his movements. He made some minor corrections, then ran her through the exercise several more times, the last at full speed.

“There, you see? This is what you are striving to imitate—the agile and receptive mind and body of the young child. And watch—”

He suddenly attacked her in such a way that the natural counter for her to make was the exercise he’s just taught her. She performed so flawlessly that she drew impromptu applause from the other students.

“At this stage, once learned, never forgotten. Try to emulate her.”

At Alberich’s command, they returned to sparring with one another. He beckoned to Talia. “You have charge of this one?” he asked, as though he had no idea of Elspeth’s identity.

“Yes, sir,” she replied respectfully.

“I should like to include her in the lessons. This can be arranged?”

“Easily sir. Would you like to learn weapons-work, instead of just watching, Elspeth?”

“Oh, yes!” the child responded eagerly, her eyes shining. “Only—”

“Yes? Alberich prompted.

“You won’t hit me too hard, please, sir? Not like you hit Griffon.”

Alberich laughed, something Talia hadn’t seen him do very often. “I gauge my punishments by the thickness of my students’ skulls, child. Griffon has a very thick skull.”

Griffon, who was close enough to hear every word, grinned and winked at the girl.

“I think,” Alberich continued, “That you have not so thick a skull, so I shall only beat you a little. Now, we might as well begin with what I just taught you.”

Talia realized as she watched them that Alberich had helped to deliver the death-blow to the Brat.

Now there was only Elspeth.

After that, though there were occasional brief lapses, the child was able to maintain her good behavior with very little effort. Throughout the hot days of that summer, she rapidly became the pet of the Collegium, although she was never in any danger of being spoiled as everyone remembered only too well what the Brat had been like.

Rather than simply watching things, she began volunteering to help. At archery practice she brought water and arrows to replace those broken, at weapons practice, chalk and dry towels. She did her best to help groom Companions and clean tack, and not just Rolan and his gear, but turning a hand to help anyone who happened to be there. When it was Talia’s turn at chores during “their” afternoons, Elspeth even insisted on doing her share; Mero the Cook soon began looking forward to having her in the kitchen and always had a special treat for his helpers on the days that she and Talia shared the work. Elspeth even had a certain fascination for the mending chores, never having known before how it was that torn clothing came to be repaired. She was not very good at it though, not having the patience for tedious work, and preferred to do something active, like sorting the clothing into piles of “still good enough,” “wear only to work out,” and “hopeless”—her own terms, quickly adopted by the rest. “Hopeless” was a particular favorite—the mender in question enacting mourning scenes over the offending garment. It got to be a regular game, one all of them enjoyed to the hilt.

By the time the leaves were turning, no one could imagine the Collegium without Elspeth running about with the trainees.

One chilly afternoon, with the last dessicated leaves blowing against Talia’s window, there was a quiet knock on her door. When Talia opened it, Sherrill was standing there—in Whites.

Talia was speechless for a moment—then hugged her friend as hard as she could, exclaiming breathlessly, “You did it! You did it!”

Sherrill hugged back, one happy tear escaping from her eyes. “I guess I did,” she said when Talia finally let her go. “You’re the first to know, except for Elcarth.”

“I am? Oh, Sherri—I don’t know what to say—it’s wonderful! I’m so glad for you! When are you leaving on your assignment?”

“Next week,” she said, seeming to feel more than a little awkward suddenly, “and I had another reason for coming here—seeing as I’m sort of your mentor—well—there’s something I have to tell you about before I leave.”

“Go on,” Talia replied, wondering why her friend was so ill-at-ease.

“Well—what do you think of—boys?”

“I never really thought about it, much,” she replied.

“I mean, do you like them? You seem to—like Skif a lot.”

“I’m not like Keren, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, it isn’t,” Sherrill squirmed in frustration. “You know—about babies and all that, right?”

“I should hope so, seeing as they’d planned on marrying me off before I came here!” Talia replied with some amusement. “And I think I’ve helped Keren with more foals than you ever have in just one year on foal-watch! I think they wait for me!”

“Well, do you know how not to have them? I mean, you must have noticed that you don’t often see a pregnant Herald, and we’re hardly a celibate bunch....”

“Yes in answer to your second question,” Talia said, thinking wryly of the nocturnal activities of her next-door neighbor Destria. “But no to your first!”

“We’ve got something the Healers make up for us,” Sherrill said, obviously relieved that she wasn’t going to have to explain the facts of life to her young friend. “It’s a powder—you take some every day, except when you’re having moon-days. It doesn’t even taste bad, which is truly amazing considering the way most of their potions taste. You can also use it to adjust your cycles if you have to, if you know you’re going to be in a situation where having your moon-days would be really awkward, for instance. You just stop taking it earlier, or keep on longer. I figured I’d better tell you about it, or it was possible no one would. I know you haven’t needed it yet—but you might want it soon if the gleam I’ve been seeing in Skif’s eyes means anything.”

“You remembered to tell me this on the day you got your Whites?” Talia asked incredulously, ignoring the comment about Skif. “Oh, Sherri, whatever did I do to deserve a friend like you?”

The powder worked just as well as the little sponges Sherrill had shown her how to use in place of the rag-clouts for moon-days, and Talia was more than grateful to Sherrill for telling her about it. Being able to adjust her cycles was wonderful in and of itself—which was just as well, since she never really got a chance to test the efficacy of the other application.

She and Skif were so often thrown together that Talia had lost any self-consciousness around him, and had certainly long since unconsciously relegated him to the category of “safe” males, especially after the help he’d been with the Hulda affair. It helped that they were much of an age and size and that the normally rowdy Skif muted his voice and actions around her, as if being aware how easily she could be startled or frightened by a male. They had started out being quite good friends—but now he was being attracted to her in another way, as his mealtime behavior had so ardently demonstrated. So what occurred next between them was hardly surprising.

After Talia had so nearly died in the icy water of the river, Alberich had assigned Sherrill to give her the same kind of swimming lessons a child of the Lake would have. Sherrill’s last act before going out on her internship was to surprise Talia on the bridge and toss her into the same spot she’d been thrown before. The water was almost as cold, though the ice was scarcely more than a thin skin among the reeds. Sherri stood ready to haul her out if she had to, but Talia “passed” this impromptu exam with flying colors and chattering teeth.

Skif met her coming back to her room, laughing, shaking with cold, barefoot and dripping and wrapped in a horseblanket.

“Holy stars!” he exclaimed in shock. “What happened to you?”

“Sherri pushed me in the river—no, wait,” she forestalled his rushing off to meet out the same treatment to the innocent Sherrill. “It was on Alberich’s orders. She’s been teaching me what she knows, and she wanted a foolproof way of testing whether I’d learned or not.”

“Some test,” Skif grumbled, then to Talia’s surprise, picked her up and carried her to her room.

“They don’t ever let up on you, do they?” he complained, helping her out of her sodden clothing and building up the tiny fire in her room. “Holy stars, you do twice the work of the rest of us, and you never get a break, and then they turn around and do things like this to you....”

She turned unexpectedly and stumbled. He caught her, and she found herself staring into his brown eyes at a meager distance of an inch or two. He froze, then seized his opportunity and kissed her.

They broke apart in confusion a long moment later.

“Uh, Talia . . .” he mumbled.

“I like you, Skif,” she said softly. “I like you a lot.”

“You do?” he flushed. “I—you know I like you.”

“And you know who my next-door neighbor is. Nobody’d notice if we—you know.”

“You mean—” Skif could hardly believe his ears. Or his luck. “But you’ve got your good uniform on—you’re going somewhere. Tonight maybe?”

“I’ve got a Council meeting, but after that....”

Alas for poor Skif—the Council meeting was long and boring, and Talia was a good deal more tired from Sherri’s “trial by water” than she realized. She arrived at her room a little before him and sat down on her bed to rest. By the time he got there, much to Skifs chagrin, she was fast asleep.

He bit his lip in annoyance; then his expression softened. He covered her carefully with a blanket and gave her a chaste kiss on one cheek; she was so weary she didn’t even stir.

“No matter, lady-o,” he whispered. “We can try again another time.”

“Bright Havens, little one!” Jadus exclaimed, seeing Talia’s strained expression as she arrived for her nightly visit. “What ails you?”

“I—I’m not sure,” she replied hesitantly. “But everyone’s so angry—I thought I could keep it out, but it won’t stay out—”

“You should have said something sooner,” he scolded gently, using his own Gift to reinforce her shielding. “Elcarth could have helped you.”

“Elcarth was busy, and everybody else was too angry to get near. Jadus, what’s wrong with everyone? I thought Heralds didn’t get angry—I’ve never felt anything like this before!”

“That’s because you weren’t in any shape to sense the mood of the Collegium last winter, dear heart.”

“You’re changing the subject,” Talia said, a bit tartly. “And if this affects Selenay or Elspeth, I need to know what it’s all about.”

Jadus hesitated, then sighed and concluded that she was right. “It’s not a pretty tale,” he said. “There’s a young Herald named Dirk who became infatuated with one of the Court beauties. That’s not too uncommon, especially the first time a Herald is assigned to the Court or Collegium, but she apparently played on it, built it into something a great deal more serious on his part. And all the time she was simply toying with him—intended using him for the rather base end of getting at a friend of his. When she was found out, she said some very cruel things—deliberately came very close to destroying his fairly fragile ego. She totally shattered his self-esteem; she’s got him convinced he’s worth less than a mongrel dog. He’s been sent back to his home for a while; hopefully in the company of his family and friends, he’ll recover. I pray so; Dirk is a good lad, and a valuable Herald, and worth fifty of her. I knew his father at Bardic, and the lad did me the service of visiting me now and again to pay his respects. The anger you feel is largely due to the fact that we are legally and ethically unable to mete out to that—woman—the punishment she richly deserves. And child, we do get angry; we’re only human—and it hurts to know we are helpless to avenge what has been done to one dear to us because we obey the spirit and the letter of the law.”

Talia left Jadus deep in thought, wondering if she’d ever truly be worthy of that kind of caring.

Skif slipped Talia a note at breakfast. “My room, tonight?”

She smiled and nodded very slightly.

He arrived at his room, Talia and the proposed rendezvous temporarily forgotten. He was battered, bruised, and sore from his head to his heels, and all he was really thinking about was whether or not he could coax Drake or Edric into bringing him something from the kitchen so that he wouldn’t have to drag his weary body to the commonroom.

He blinked in surprise to see food and hot tea waiting on his desk. He blinked again to see Talia sitting on his bed.

“Oh, Lord of Lights—Talia, I forgot!”

“I heard,” she said simply. “But I thought you could use food and a friend—and we’ll see if we can’t get you in shape for other things with those two.”

“He’s a sadist, that Alberich,” he moaned, lowering himself, wincing, into the chair, and reaching for the tea. ‟ ‛Time you had some responsibility,’ he said. ‘You’re going to be my assistant,’ he said. ‘It’ll give you less time for picking of pockets and evil habits.’ He didn’t say he’d be giving me extra lessons. He didn’t say that he was going to make me the sparring partner for hulking brutes who’ve already gotten their Whites. He didn’t tell me I was going to be teaching three giants who never saw anything more sophisticated than a club. Holy stars, Talia, you should see those three! They were farmers, or so they tell me. Farmers! Talia, if you asked directions from one of them, he’d probably pick up the plow, ox and all, to point the way!”

Talia murmured sympathetically, and massaged his shoulders.

“I hurt in places I didn’t know I had,” he complained, eating his dinner with what, for him, was unnatural slowness.

“I might be able to help with that,” Talia smiled, continuing to massage his aches.

It was a short two steps to his bed; she got most of the clothing off him—and not so incidentally off herself. She had gotten hold of some kellwoodoil and warmed it to skin temperature, using it to help get the knots out of his bruised and battered muscles. Under her gentle ministrations he was even beginning to feel somewhat revived; then he made the mistake of closing his eyes.

Talia realized it was hopeless when she heard his gentle snores.

She sighed, eased herself out of his bed, tucked him in like a child, and returned to her own room.

This Midwinter, she stayed at the Collegium quite gladly, enjoying the unusual freedom to read until all hours of the night if she chose, and greatly enjoying Jadus’ company. She discovered that this year Mero and Gaytha were remaining over the holiday, along with Keren and Ylsa, and the six of them often met in Jadus’ room for long discussions over hot cider.

Keren and Ylsa took her out with them on long rides into the countryside outside the capital. They even managed to persuade Jadus to accompany them on more than one of these expeditions—the first time he’d been off Collegium grounds for years. The three of them had found a pond that had frozen with a black-ice surface as smooth as the finest mirror. While Ylsa and Jadus stayed by the fire they built on the shore, laughing at the other two and keeping a careful eye on the rabbit and roots they were roasting for a snow-picnic, Karen taught Talia how to skate. With runners made of polished steel fastened to her boots, Keren glided on the surface of the pond with the grace of a falcon in flight.

Talia fell down a lot—at least at first.

“You’re just trying to get back at me,” she accused. “I never got a sore rear from riding, so you’re trying some other way to make it hard for me to sit down!”

Keren just chuckled, helped her up again, and resumed towing her around the pond.

Eventually she acquired the knack of balancing, then of moving. By the time they quit to return home, she was thoroughly enjoying herself, even if she looked, as she said, “more like a goose than a falcon!”

They repeated this trip nearly every other day, until by Midwinter itself Talia was proficient enough to be able to skate—shakily—backwards.

Once again they shared the revelry in the Servant’s Hall, this time with the other four as additions to the group. It was altogether a most satisfactory Midwinter holiday.

When classes resumed, she added one in law and jurisprudence and another in languages and lost the free hour in the library. Often it seemed as if there simply weren’t enough hours in the day to do everything, but somehow she managed.

Her bond with Rolan, if anything, continued to deepen; now it seemed as if he was always present at the back of her mind. She knew by now that he was the source of some of the wisdom that she’d had spring unbidden into her mind when the Queen needed it, and that it had been Rolan who had guided her when she’d needed to bail Skif out of Orthallen’s ill graces. Rolan, after all, had the benefit of living in the mind of a man of great ability—the former King’s Own, Talamir—for all of Talamir’s life as a Herald, and made all of that wisdom available to his new Herald. Yet some of it, at least, was all Talia’s own; the instinctive judgment that only the Monarch’s Own Herald possessed.

Before she realized how much time had passed, the trees were budding again. There was a new crop of trainees, and Talia was amazed at how young these children looked. Sometimes she was just as surprised, when looking in a mirror, at how young she still looked—for she felt as if she must appear at least a hundred years old by now.

Spring did bring one respite; Keren had taught her all she knew. There would be no more equitation classes, as such. From time to time she would help Keren with the younger students who needed individual help, but it was not the steady, draining demand that the class had been.

Now that Keren was no longer Talia’s teacher, their relationship ripened into an incredibly close friendship, closer even than the relationship Talia had had with her sister Vris. For all of the difference in their ages—Keren was slightly more than twice Talia’s age—they discovered that the difference was negligible once they really began to talk with one another. The closeness they had begun over the Midwinter holiday began to deepen and strengthen. Talia found that Keren was the one person in the entire Collegium with whom she felt free to unburden herself—perhaps because Keren was strongly sympathetic to the weight of responsibility on the shoulders of the Queen’s Own, having had that burden in her own family. Being able to say exactly what she pleased to somebody made life a great deal easier for Talia.

As for Keren—Talia was one of the few people she’d ever met, even in the Heraldic circle, who was willing to accept her, her relationship with Ylsa, and all that this implied, without judgment. Once Talia’s loyalty was given, it was unswerving and unshakable. Most Heralds liked and admired Keren, but many were uneasy about getting too close to her, as if her preferences were some kind of stain that might rub off on them. Talia was one of the few who gave her heart freely and openly to one she considered to be her best friend. And with Ylsa so often away, life up until now had been rather lonely—a loneliness Talia did much to alleviate, simply by being there.

Talia learned something new about her friend, something that few guessed. The outward strength and capability of the riding instructor masked the internal fragility of a snowflake. Her emotional stability rested on a tripod of three bonds—the one with Teren, the one with Dantris, her Companion, and the one with Ylsa. It was partially because of that that the Circle had assigned the twins to teaching full-time at the Collegium when the advance of middle years made it time to think of taking them from field duty (although the primary reasons were that they were experts in their areas—Keren with equitation and Teren for his talents in dealing with children and true gift for teaching). There was very little chance that anything untoward would occur to either Dantris or her brother here. Ylsa had been given her own assignment as Special Messenger because of the unusual endurance of Felara, second only to Rotan’s—though it was true that the duty of special messenger was not as hazardous as many of the others, which had again been a minor consideration. Still, Talia often thought with a vague dread that if anything ever happened to Ylsa, Keren might well follow.

The night was warm; it was too early for insects, the moon was full. It was an altogether idyllic setting. There was even a lovely soft bed of young ferns to spread their cloaks on. Talia had met Skif quite by accident when she was coming back from walking with Elspeth in Companion’s Field. With unspoken accord they had retraced their steps, and found this ideal trysting place....

‟Comfortable?”

“Mm-hm. And the stars—”

“They’re gorgeous. I could watch them forever.”

“I thought,” Talia teased, “that you had something else in mind!”

“Oh I did—”

But he had just spent his afternoon dodging Alberich, and she had been up since well before dawn.

Talia returned his hesitant, but gentle caresses. She was both excited and a little apprehensive about this, but from the way Skif was acting she evidently wasn’t being too awkward. She began to relax for the first time since early that morning, and she could feel the tension in his shoulders begin to go out—

—and they fell asleep simultaneously.

They woke with dew soaking them and birds overhead, and the sun just beginning to rise.

“I hate to say this,” Skif began with a sigh.

“I know. This isn’t going to work, is it?”

“I guess not. It’s either the gods, fate, or the imp of the perverse.”

“Or all three. I guess we’re stuck just being good friends. Well, you can’t say we didn’t try!”

To Skif’s delight, their classmates seemed totally unaware of the fact that their trysts had been abortive. Talia was thought of as being very hard to get; Skif was amazed to discover that his reputation had been made as a consequence, and proceeded immediately to try to live up to it. Coincident with this, Alberich dropped him as assistant, and appointed Jeri, so he never again had the problem that had plagued his “romance” with Talia. Talia simply smiled and held her peace when teased about Skif, so their secret remained a secret.

The Death Bell tolled four times that year; Talia found herself in a new role—one that she hadn’t expected.

She’d attended the funeral of the first of that year’s victims. It was just turning autumn, the air still had the feel of summer during the day, although the nights were growing colder. She had gone to Companion’s Field afterward and had mounted Rolan without saddling him. They had not ambled along as was their usual habit; it was rather as if something was drawing both of them to a particular corner of the Field.

Companion’s Field was not, as the name implied, a simple, flat field. Rather, it was a rolling, partially wooded complex of several acres in size, containing the Stable for foul-weather shelter, the barn and granary holding the Companions’ fodder, and the tack shed—in reality a substantial building with fireplaces at either end. The heart of the field was the Grove, the origin-place of the original Companions, and the location of the tower containing the Death Bell. There were several spring-fed creeks and pools and many secluded, shady copses, as well as more open areas.

Talia’s “feelings” led her to one of those secluded corners, a tiny pool at the bottom of an equally tiny valley, all overhung with golden-leaved willows. There was a Herald there, his own Companion nuzzling anxiously at his shoulder, staring vacantly into the water of the pool.

Talia dismounted and sat next to him. “Would you like to talk about it?” she asked, after a long silence.

He tossed a scrap of bark into the pool. “I found him—Gerick, I mean.”

“Bad?”

“I can’t even begin to tell you. Whatever killed him can’t have been human, not even close. And the worst of it was—”

‟Go on.”

“It was my circuit he was riding. If I hadn’t broken my leg, it would have been me. Maybe.”

“You don’t think so?”

“There’s been some odd things going on out there on the Western Border, especially on my circuit. I tried to warn him, but he just laughed and told me I’d been out there too long. Maybe, if it’d been me out there—I don’t know.”

Talia remained silent, knowing there was more he hadn’t said.

“I can’t sleep anymore,” the Herald said at last, and indeed he looked haggard. “Every time I close my eyes, I see his face, the way he was when I found him. The btood—the—pain—Dammit to all the Twelve Hells!” he drove his fist into the ground beside him. “Why did it have to be Gerick? Why? I’ve never seen anybody so much in love with life—why did he have to die like that?”

“I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t,” Talia replied. “I think we’ll only know the why of things when we meet our own fates....” Her voice trailed off as she searched for words to bring him some kind of comfort. “But surely, if he loved life as much as you say, Gerick must have made the most of every minute he had?”

“You know—you’re right. I used to dig at him for it, sometimes he’d just laugh, and tell me that since he didn’t know what was around the corner, he planned to make the most of whatever he had at the moment. I swear, it seemed sometimes as if he were trying to live three men’s lives, all at once. Why, I remember a time when—”

He continued with a string of reminiscences, at times almost oblivious of Talia’s presence except as an ear in which to pour his words. He only stopped when his throat grew dry, and he realized with a start that he’d been talking for at least a couple of hours.

“Lord of the Mountain—what have I been telling you?” he said, seeing for the first time that his companion was only an adolescent girl. “Look I’m sorry. What is your name?”

“Talia,” she replied and smiled as his eyes widened a little in recognition. “There’s nothing to apologize for, you know. All I’ve been doing is listening—but now you’re remembering your friend as he lived instead of as he died. Isn’t that a better memorial?”

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “Yes.” The strain was gone from his face, and she could no longer sense the kind of tearing, destructive unhappiness that had led her here. There was sorrow, yes—but not the kind that would obsess and possess him.

“I’ve got to go now, and you should get some sleep before you’re ill.” She swung up on Rolan’s back as he raised eyes that mirrored his gratitude to meet hers.

‟Thank you, Queen’s Own,” was all he said—but the tone of his voice said much more.

The second Herald to die that year fell victim to an avalanche, but the lover he’d left behind had to be convinced that he hadn’t been taking foolish risks because they’d quarreled previously. That was an all-night session, and Talia appeared at her first class looking so dragged out that the now-Herald Nerrissa, who was teaching it, ordered her back to bed and canceled all her morning work.

The third meant another soul-searching session with Selenay, guilt-wracked over having sent, this time, a young and inexperienced Herald into something she would never have been able to cope with—an explosive feud between two families of the lesser nobility of the East. It had devolved into open warfare between them, and while trying to reconcile the two parties, the Herald had gotten in the way of a stray arrow. Had she had more experience, she would not have so exposed herself.

Of course, Selenay had had no way of knowing that the feud had gotten that heated at the time she sent Beryl—but with the clear vision imparted by hindsight, she felt that she should have guessed.

But for the fourth, just after Midwinter holiday, it was Talia herself that was in dire need of comfort—for the Herald who died was Jadus.

She’d awakened one morning before dawn knowing immediately that something was wrong—that it involved Jadus, and had only taken enough time to pull her cloak on over her bedgown before running to his room. She all but ran into a Healer leaving it, and his eyes told her the truth.

Jadus’ passing had been quite peaceful, he told her; Jadus had had no inkling of it, simply hadn’t awakened. His Companion was also gone—probably simultaneously.

None of this was any comfort at all.

She retreated to her room and sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the chair he’d spent so many nights occupying, guarding her in her illness. She thought of all the things that she wished now she’d told him—how much he had meant to her, how much she’d learned from him. It was too late for any of that now—and too late to thank him.

‟Lovey—I heard—” Keren stood beside her; Talia hadn’t even noticed the door opening. As they stared at one another, the Bell began to toll.

As if the bell-tone had released something, Talia began to cry soundlessly. Keren held her on the edge of the bed, and they wept together for their old friend and for all that he’d meant to both of them.

Keren was not the only one to think of Talia when the news spread, for when they looked up at a small sound, Dean Elcarth had taken the chair across from Talia’s bed.

“I have to tell you two things, my dear,” he said with a little difficulty. “Jadus was a long-time friend of mine; he was my counselor on my internship in fact. He left all of his affairs in my hands. He knew he hadn’t much longer to live, and he told me when—he wanted you to have—” Mutely he held out the harp case that held My Lady.

Talia took it in trembling hands and stared at it, unable to speak around the lump of tears in her throat.

“The other thing is this; he was happier these past two years than at any time since he lost his leg. When it came to strict academic subjects, he wasn’t a very good teacher; his heart just wasn’t in it. The classes we had him teach were just to keep him busy, and he knew it. Until you came, he’d been retreating more and more into the past, living in a time when he’d been useful. You made him feel useful again. And when you were sick—I don’t think you realize how much your needing him, both to guard your safety and to chase the nightmares away with his music, made him alive again. And being able to counsel and guide you—it meant the world to him.”

‟He—knew? He knew how much I needed him?”

“Of course he knew; he had the thought-sensing Gift. No matter how well you think you shield, youngling, when you care for someone the way you two cared for each other, things are bound to get through—will you, nill you. And when you started coming to him for advice or for help, and when he was the one you came to over the Hulda affair—I don’t think he was ever prouder of anything he’d done. He often told me he no longer missed not having a family because now he had a family in you and in the friends you’d brought to him. He was a very lonely man until you came to his door, little one. He died a happy and contented man.”

Elcarth dropped his head and rubbed briefly at his eyes, unable to say more.

“I have to go,” he said finally, and stood up. Talia caught his hand.

‟Thank you—” she whispered.

He squeezed her hand in acknowledgment and left.

It was several months before she could bring herself to touch My Lady—but once she had (though she missed Jadus dreadfully every time she played), she never once neglected to practice.

And when she did, she tried to remember him as he’d been that night, alert and alive, in the chair next to her bed with his harp on his lap, and a loaded crossbow hidden on the floor beside him, with his old cane exchanged for one that held concealed the blade of a sword.

And the incredulous smile of joy that had appeared when she had begged him to play for her.

Or the way he’d looked when he told her and Skif that they could leave the problem of Hulda in his hands—strong again; confident again—needed.

And the laughter and joy they’d shared that Midwinter day when Keren had taught her to skate.

Sometimes, it even helped a little. But only sometimes.