Changing the World: All-New Tales of Valdemar

He turned a corner. His destination—possibly his destiny—came into view. A terrible notion slid over him—what if the door was locked?

Then I will break it down, he thought grimly.

He touched the doorknob. It turned with a click, opening on a room lit by a single lantern. A wan, familiar face floated in the inky darkness. Something metal gleamed.

Wil’s insides gave one final, painful, all-too-familiar lurch—

Not now!

Knife. Blood. Silver settings, empty of gems. Crossbow.

Wait—crosswhat?

As Wil staggered under the weight of Foresight, he heard the snick of a quarrel being fired.

The enraptured audience stood motionless before Lelia as she stretched her Gift, her attention utterly focused on the count, the countess, and her entourage of—

Where’s Einan? Lelia thought.

Her fingers continued strumming even as her thoughts turned frantic.

Where is he?

Einan fired the crossbow cradled in his arms just as Wil’s vision drove him to his knees. The bolt slammed into the wood paneling behind him, raining splinters into his hair.

Wil drew his long-knife. Einan swore and struggled to rise from the settee he’d been reclining on. Wil tackled him to the floor and, on a wild guess, punched him in the ribs.

The bones yielded easily. Einan screamed.

Handy Gift, Foresight.

“Heyla,” Wil said, at a loss for words. “That wasn’t very nice.”

Einan’s lips pulled back, showing his teeth. “You—displease—her.” He coughed, then drew himself up, and spat at Wil.

Wil flinched and jerked back for just a second—all the time the steward needed. A dirk appeared in his hand from a holster on his wrist.

“Chantil!” he shrieked, and rammed it into his own throat.

Blood painted the walls and Wil. Einan expired, gurgling his lady’s name.

“His neck?” Lelia said, toying with a silvery pendant dangling about her own throat.

Wil nodded from the edge of his bed—the real one, in his room in the Heraldic wing.

“Einan was Chantil’s childhood friend. Low-class family. Couldn’t marry her, so became her steward.” Wil rubbed his eyes. He’d been debriefing for candlemarks since last night. Sleep had not been possible. “We found journals and . . . madness doesn’t begin to cover half of it. Pages about how much he adored Chantil, how perfect she was, how the people who served her didn’t deserve her. Including her husbands.” He pointed at her. “You, too.”

Lelia grimaced.

“He followed you home every night. Palace Guards keep records of visitors, but since he was the Tindale steward, no one questioned him being there. Einan was convinced you were a Herald in disguise.”

She gaped. “What?”

“The irony is really not lost on us.”

“What?”

“You were staying in the Heraldic wing.”

“But—everyone knows—”

“Not everyone, it seems.”

“Oh.”

Wil rubbed his face. “Found the jewelry under the floorboards of Einan’s bedroom. Empty settings. Chantil was flabbergasted.”

“Would have loved to see that.”

“Heh.”

“In retrospect, she’s not that bad a person.” Lelia shrugged. “Still a snob, but—not a murderer.”

Wil nodded. “Sometimes, people aren’t what they appear to be.”

:Oh?: Vehs said dryly. :What philosopher’s memoir did you dredge that from?:

:Hush, you.:

Wil yawned, his eyes drooping. “Tired. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for doing your job.” She stood. “So, what next?”

“ ’Nother Circuit, probably. Work’s never done.”

She smiled. “Valdemar first.”

“Yeah.”

She bent forward and kissed his forehead. “I spoke to Valdemar. She said to sleep. It’s her Midwinter gift to you.”

He cracked a smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Goodbye.”

“Good night,” he yawned back.

Before he dropped off, Wil thought it nice when she kissed him.

Lelia sang a word, the sound echoing across Companion’s Field.

A white form broke off from the herd and trotted toward where she waited at the fence, an apple in her outstretched hand.

“Midwinter gift for you,” she said as Vehs delicately nipped the fruit from her palm. The Companion chewed, then bent and touched his nose to the pack at her feet.

“The stories call,” she said. “Evendim, if it matters. Rumors of half-hawk men there.” She stood up on tip-toe and kissed his cheek. “Keep him safe.”

Vehs shook his mane and stamped his hoof. A gesture of frustration? It didn’t matter anyway, even if it was. She had songs to sing.

The Companion watched her as she walked through the frosty grass toward the gates, whistling as she went.

Wil hummed to himself on his way to Lyle’s quarters. He lifted his fist to knock—

:She left,: Vehs interrupted.

Wil froze. :What?:

Vehs told him.

:This time of year?: Wil thought.

:Madness, I know.:

:Wait—you and the Bard—talk?:

:Of course not. She talked to me. And I’m the one who suggested her, remember?: Vehs’s mental voice danced with amusement. :Jealous?: