Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

Malesa eyed her. “Are you saying that because you actually believe it, or because it justifies your behavior?”

Lelia snorted derisively.

“Besides, even if you think it,” Malesa continued, “he obviously doesn’t.”

“He laughed at me. A Herald!” She pushed her head out of a window and yelled in the direction of Companion’s Field: “Just what kind of people are you Choosing nowadays?”

A passing page gave her a strange look. She growled back, sending the boy scurrying away with a squeak.

“You worry me,” Malesa said.

“Oh, go get Chosen already. You sound like my brother.” Lelia stopped at a door. “Speaking of which . . .”

She opened it and stepped inside. Lyle never did lock his door; he was just so damn trusting, sometimes. Many of his belongings had already been moved to his new suite, but a few things remained. And yes, there at the foot of his bed was a chest, and inside—

Lelia laughed darkly as she pulled out a gray shirt and pants.

“Astera bless a fool,” Malesa moaned.

Wil sat down at a table apart from the others. There was really no quiet place in the common room, but this was far enough away that he could hear Vehs think if he needed to.

He also had an excellent vantage of all entrances. The moment he saw a rust-red figure walk in, he would walk out.

:Why not sit with the others?: Vehs asked.

:I like being alone.:

Vehs gave a purely mental sigh.

Wil was wiping up a large lump of meat and parsnip with a chunk of crusty bread when someone sat down next to him. A voice purred in his ear, “Heyla, Herald.”

He looked to his left, and into the face of the black-haired Bard-trainee. In Grays.

No. Not uniform Grays. Gray shirt and pants, but not Grays.

“Uh,” he said.

“You can call me Lelia.”

:Did she get Chosen?: he thought at Vehs.

:Suuure. And I sprout gryphon wings in the moonlight.:

“Uh,” Wil repeated.

“Tell me your story, Herald,” she said in a low voice. “That’s all I ask.”

“You’re walking a fine line,” he said, nodding to her gray (but not Gray) clothing.

Her hard eyes remained fixed on him. “One story. Won’t take long. I just want to know what happened to Daryann.”

Wil’s blood boiled at the sound of his sister’s name. He pushed away from the table. “Excuse me.”

She made a grab for his sleeve. “Herald—”

He jerked his head to where Elcarth sat several tables down. “One more word,” Wil growled, “and I tell him what you’re up to. Bardic Immunity or not, I doubt very much the Dean would be pleased to see how you’re behaving.”

Lelia released his sleeve, and Wil slipped out.

Wil sat down on his bed and rubbed his eyes. The effort to calm down after his last encounter with the Bardic Pest had left him exhausted mentally and physically.

That damn girl.

:We might be heading back to circuit sooner than anticipated,: he thought to Vehs.

:Poor Chosen. Poor, poor Chosen.:

:It’s nothing to be amused about.:

:Oh, I disagree. I think it’s hysterical.:

Wil sighed deeply. :She’s defiling Daryann’s memory.:

:By writing a song about her legacy? That’s not really defiling.:

:It’s not her place.:

:But don’t you think it’s time you told someone?:

A cold knot crept up from Wil’s stomach to his throat. Memories welled up, unbidden. The acrid smell of herbs and wine—etched lines around dark eyes—the soft shush of hair sliding over crisp linens as her head turned toward him—the gaunt, pale face, whittled to a wax doll parody by pain—

He shoved the memory rudely aside.

:No,: he replied.

He stretched out on his bed, abstaining the covers. He preferred an old, loose shirt and breeches to smothering layers of bedding. Bit by bit, he drifted toward the borders of dreaming, relaxing gently into sleep’s embrace.

It was strange, just how relaxed he was. And his feet—they were nice and warm and—

His eyes snapped open. Someone was rubbing his feet.

He yanked his legs back and sat up. Belatedly, he realized he’d forgotten to latch the door. There was just enough moon-and starlight coming through his windows that he could see an all-too-familiar fine-boned face at the end of his bed.

“That’s it!” he roared at her, swinging out of bed and bearing down on her. “Get out! Leave me alone! Leave her alone!”

Lelia stared at him, her mouth wide open. “I—” she started to say.

“Out!”

She backed away from the murderous rage in his eyes, turned, and ran.

He heard a faint sob as she fled.

Wil slumped back onto his bed.

“Ah, Lord,” he mumbled, rubbing his forehead. “Ah, hellfires.”