Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

Lelia bolted back to her quarters, half-sobbing the whole way. Wil’s anger had been startling—overwhelming—terrifying. The only thing she could think to do was run from it.

She opened the door to her room, reaching for the laces of the gray shirt—Her twin sat in the chair by her bed, his hands folded in his lap. Lelia froze in place, the heat of embarrassment creeping across her cheeks.

“Heyla,” Lyle said softly.

She shut the door, her hand falling to her side.

“That shirt doesn’t fit, you know,” he said, and then sighed. “What’s wrong, ’Lia?”

She shook her head, sitting down on the bed and not looking at him. “Nothing.”

“I’m worried about you,” he said. “So is Malesa. She and I . . . talked tonight.”

Lelia grimaced at the implications of that.

Lyle sat down next to her, putting his arm around her shoulder. “Thy heart is heavy, little songbird?”

The familiar, comforting sound of her childhood dialect crushed her pitiful attempts to shut him out.

“I think I did a bad thing,” she whispered.

“What could be that bad?”

Her words emerged as halting, half-incoherent sentences. She told him her fear of never finishing the song that would make her a full Bard, her days stalking Wil, and the disastrous consequences of intruding on the Herald in his bedchambers; the frightening display of anger that had sent her scurrying for her room.

When she finished, Lyle sat quietly, mulling over the tale.

“In his bedchambers?” he said at last.

She ducked her head. “I didn’t see anything—”

“You violated his privacy.”

She slumped.

“You should apologize to him,” he said.

“I should apologize to him,” she echoed listlessly.

“And maybe I’ll get him as a circuit mentor, and I can explain to him my crazy Bard-sib.”

The word “circuit” crashed down on her shoulders like a lead church bell. In a fit of recklessness, Lelia blurted the words she’d never dared given breath before, “You’re going to die!”

“What?” He knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. She Felt his concern and love down the line of their bond so fiercely it startled her. “No, Lelia.”

“You’ll be leaving me, at the very least,” she said, half hysterical, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Gods, Lyle, do you know how many stories I know? Do you know how many times I hear about the Heralds who don’t return from circuit? Do you know what happens to a twin when the other one . . .”

She couldn’t finish it. The growing dread in her heart made her feel like she’d already said too much.

“I’m so selfish,” she said, shaking her head.

“Y . . . eah,” he agreed. When she gave him a startled look, he grinned. “ ’Lia, it’s not a bad thing. I see you as my balance. Given half a chance, I’d beat myself to death to help others. I need you to remind me that, sometimes, it’s okay to help myself.” He touched her shoulder. “I worry about you, too, you know. In a few months you’ll be wandering out there on your own . . . who knows what trouble you’ll run into without me around to balance you out?”

“Why couldn’t you have been a Healer?” she asked, not smiling. “Or a Bard? Why couldn’t you be like me? We’re supposed to be twins!”

He laughed, but there was a brittleness to it.

“Bright Lady. Bright Havens.” She crushed his hand in hers. “How I wish you didn’t have to go.”

They sat together in the darkness, holding hands just as they had during thunderstorms as littles. She couldn’t imagine a world without Lyle in it to give her comfort, to bear her through the storms. She just couldn’t.

Lelia got up early the next morning, dressed once again in rust-red. She’d lain in bed all night, struggling to come up with a plan for dealing with Wil and the damage she’d caused.

Before breakfast, she hiked down to Companion’s Field and went hunting.

It didn’t take her long. The Companion she searched for was wide awake; he even seemed to be waiting for her.

“Heyla,” she said, approaching him. “You’re Wil’s Companion, right?”

The stallion tossed his head.

“Well, I know very well you’re probably smarter than me,” she said. “I also know I owe some things to your Chosen.” She reached up and scratched his neck. “So I need to ask you a favor.” And she told him her plan.

Much to her surprise, he nodded in agreement.

Wil didn’t see Lelia all the next day. Or the next.

As the candlemarks passed, his discomfort outgrew his ability to ignore it. By dinnertime he was wrestling with the twin serpents of guilt and anger. Why should he feel guilty? She was the one intruding on his life! She was the one who refused to leave him alone! She . . .

“Damnit,” he muttered as he sat down to eat by himself in the common room.

It didn’t matter what she had done. He had lost his temper. He had raised his voice. He was better than that.

Or supposed to be. He was the one with a cart-sized otherworldly horse on his side.

Dinner ended quickly, but the self-flagellation remained. He wandered back to his room, lost in the emotional push and pull of anger and shame.

He stopped in front of his door.