Changing the World: All-New Tales of Valdemar

“Oh, yes. My personal favorite is ‘Today, I Lunch’.” She giggled. “It’s very respectful.”

“Right.”

“Nothing I haven’t done before. So. Many. Times. I’m sick of it, to be honest.”

“The wages of fame.”

Her lips twitched. “Eh. Got me in to see the queen. I assume it’s how Talamir knew me and why Chantil jumped to hire me.” She took a deep breath. “Speaking of Her Haughtiness . . . I’ll use my Gift. No one will leave that room.”

“The whole room under Bardic Gift?”

“I’m not that good. But Chantil and Andris will be my focus. With them pinned, no one’s going to leave.”

“Might . . . actually work.”

“Good.” She stood up. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed.

Lelia had her hand on the door to the Herald’s wing when she heard the hiss of something swinging through the air.

Having spent years being hammered on by a large and skilled ex-captain of the Karsite army had its merits: when Lelia heard things hissing toward her, her first instinct was to duck. She dropped her weight, shed her packs, and rolled off to the side. She sprung up again, facing whatever had been swinging at where she’d been standing.

She saw a nothing that was something—black clothes, black gloves, black hood and half- mask. The black-clad nothing lunged at her with what looking like a club, taking another two-handed strike at her face. Lelia stumbled backward, opened her mouth, and screamed with full Bardic Gift, “Stop!”

Her attacker staggered in place.

Lelia jumped forward and landed with bone-crunching force on her assailant’s foot.

A clunk followed the howl as the club dropped. Lelia crouched and came up swinging the discarded weapon; her assailant’s ribs cracked like greenwood.

The figure issued an ear- piercing shriek, turned—and ran.

“Oh, no!” Lelia yelled, brandishing her new weapon. “Get back here you ba—guh!”

Her own pack fouled her. One moment she was on her feet, the next she sprawled on the pathway, tangled in books and leather, the club bouncing merrily away. The sound of footfalls receded. By the time she regained her feet, she was alone.

“Gods damn it,” she whispered.

Somehow, she made it up to Lyle’s room and lit the hearth with shaking hands. The warm familiarity of her brother’s quarters kept her from curling up into a hysterical sobbing ball. She locked and barred every window and door, shivering despite the warmth of the fire.

Wil heard a knock early the next morning. He stumbled out of bed to find the Bard on the other side of his door. “You look—”

“Got attacked,” she said wearily. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“What?”

She told him with monosyllabic sentences and a demonstrative stomp. She showed him the short, lead-weighted stick of wood she’d turned on her attacker’s ribs. She hadn’t seen a face. But she also hadn’t told anyone.

She did, however, tell him where she’d been staying.

“The Herald’s wing?” He struggled to keep his voice level.

She blinked. “Everyone knows Lyle’s my brother.”

:I, uh, forgot to mention that’s where she was staying, didn’t I?: Vehs managed to sound sheepish.

:You’re worse than me at being sneaky,: Wil thought. “Why didn’t you come and get me?” he asked her.

“Very wary after near-death experience. Long walk. No magic horse.”

“Lelia!”

“ ’Sokay. Not hurt.” Her eyes drifted shut. “Need sleep. Just a candlemark. Here okay?” Her eyes opened again, pleading.

He pointed to the bed. “Go.”

She patted his cheek. “Good Herald.”

The Bard curled up on his bed, dragging the covers over her. Snores drifted up from her a moment later.

Wil picked up the club. His gut twisted.

“Hellfires,” he muttered.

Wil scanned the crowd, feeling a rising level of annoyance and frustration as he watched the countess dance gaily to Lelia’s composition. Not a sign of pain or a limp.

The room was packed, stifling with heat despite it being (nearly) the middle of winter. The only reason Wil spotted the countess was that she’d dressed like a peacock that had been doused in rainbow- hued pitch and set ablaze, a gesture he took to be overcompensation for Lelia stealing her glory.

Lelia gestured him over and whispered, “Time now.”

He nodded. “I’ll get you that right away, ma’am,” he said as he straightened, turned, and strode off.

“Ladies and gentlelords!” Lelia’s voice boomed over the crowd, rolling out like a banner. “Who wants to hear a story about Valdemar’s greatest king?”

Wil breathed more freely when he got into the corridor and away from the crush of people and the roaring cheers. Servants jostled past, babbling about whats- her-name and the Sendar-song. Someday, he realized, he would need to ask her to play it for him.

The wide corridor beyond the great hall and kitchens echoed, utterly deserted. He tried to be quiet, but the farther he went, the more urgently his Gift nudged him, twisting his gut into harder and tighter knots. The need to get there overwhelmed the lesser need to be silent.