Soul of the Fire

"Considering the urgency of the situation with both Lord Rahl and Emperor Jagang vying for our allegiance; and with the dark cloud of war hanging over us, I will petition, on the behalf of the people of.Anderith, that the Directors name a new Sovereign this very night, and, whoever he might be, urge that on the morrow that mere man be consecrated as our new Sovereign, linking our people directly once more to the Creator Himself so that we can at last have the direction our old and faithful Sovereign, because of his age and ill health, was unable to provide."

Teresa clutched his sleeve. "Dalton," she whispered as she stared at Bertrand Chanboor in wide-eyed reverence, "Dalton, do you realize he could very well be our next Sovereign."

Dalton, not wanting to spoil the sincerity of her epiphany, laid a hand gently on her back. "We can hope, Tess."

"We can pray, too," she whispered, her eyes glistening with tears.

Bertrand spread his hands before the wet eyes of the frightened crowd.

"Please, good people, bow your heads with me in prayer."

Dalton, pacing near the door, took Franca's arm as soon as she stepped into the room. He shut the door.

"My dear Franca, so good to see you. And to get a chance to talk with you. It has been a while. Thank you for coming."

"You said it was important."

"Yes, it is." Dalton held out a hand in invitation. "Please, have a seat."

Franca smoothed her dress under her as she sat in a padded chair before his desk. Dalton leaned back against the desk, wanting to be closer to her, to appear less formal than sitting behind his desk.

He felt something under his backside. He saw what it was and pushed the little book of Joseph Ander's back on his desk, out of his way.

Franca fanned her face. "Could you open a window, please, Dalton? It's frightfully stuffy in here."

Though it was just dawn, the sun yet to break the horizon, she was right; it was already hot and promised to be a stifling day. Smiling, Dalton went behind his desk and lifted the window all the way. He glanced over his shoulder, and at her gestured insistence, opened two more windows.

"Thank you, Dalton. You are kind to indulge me. Now, what's so important?"

He came back round the desk to once more lean back against it as he gazed down at her. "Were you able to hear anything at the feast last night? It was an important evening, what with the tragic announcement. It would be helpful if you were able to report on what you heard."

Franca, looking distressed, opened a little purse hung round her waist, hidden under a layer of brown wool. She withdrew four gold coins and held them out.

"Here. This is what you've paid me since I've… since I've had the difficulty with my gift. I've not earned it. I've no right to keep your money. I'm sorry you had to call me all the way in here because I didn't return your payment sooner."

Dalton knew how much she needed the money. With her gift not working, neither did she. Franca was going broke. With no man in her life, she had to earn a living or starve. For her to return the money he'd paid her was a serious statement.

Dalton pushed her hand away. "No, no, Franca, I don't want your money-"

"Not my money. I've done nothing to earn it. I've no right to it."

She offered the coins again. Dalton took her hand in both his and held it tenderly.

"Franca, we're old and dear friends. I'll tell you what. If you don't think you've earned the money, then I will give you the opportunity to earn it right now."

"I told you, I can't-"

"It doesn't involve using your gift. It involves something else you have to offer."

She drew back with a gasp. "Dalton! You've a wife! A beautiful young bride-"

"No, no," Dalton said, caught off guard. "No, Franca. I'm sorry if I ever led you to believe I would… I'm sorry if I wasn't clear."

Dalton found Franca an intriguing, attractive woman, even if she was a little older, and quite odd. Though it hadn't been in his mind, and even though he would not entertain such an offer, he was nevertheless disappointed to find she thought the idea repulsive.

She eased back into her seat. "Then what is it you want?"

"The truth."

"Ah. Well, Dalton, there's truth, and then there's truth. Some more trouble than others."

"Wise words."

"Which truth is it you seek?"

"What's wrong with your magic?"

"It doesn't work."

"I know that. I want to know why."

"Thinking of going into the wizard business, Dalton?"

He took a breath and clasped his hands. "Franca, it's important. I need to know why your magic doesn't work."

"Why?"

"Because I need to know if it's just you, or if there is something wrong with magic in general. Magic is an important element to the life of many in Anderith. If it doesn't work I need to know about it so this office can be prepared."

Her scowl eased. "Oh."

"So, what's wrong with magic, and how universal is the difficulty?"

She retreated into a gloom. "Can't say."

"Franca, I really need to know. Please?"

She peered up at him. "Dalton, don't ask me-"

"I'm asking."