Keri leaned to his right side, elbow resting on the armrest of his wheeled-chair, fingers pressed against his forehead. Vivek Sharma sat on his right, and Sidonie on his left. Across from the three of them, with a tray of tea and cups on the table in between, was the banker.

“They fought for a risen goddess who’s thrown nearly two entire continents into war,” Keri argued, not feeling much obligation to keep the heat from his voice. At least the words were coming easier, now: the ‘t’s’ still weren’t quite right, but he no longer worried about making himself understood. “They attacked Coral Bay, which Magia Corbett can attest to. The extent to which the Cult of Ractia has infiltrated Lucania is still not clear. I’d rather hang these men than let them go free.”

Edwin Teller spread his hands wide and shrugged. “The Grey Company is a recognized mercenary group who have taken contracts from Carinthia to Lendh ka Dakruim. Two decades ago they even fought for Valegard. They maintain accounts in good standing with the Most Noble Bankers' Guild. I have been authorized to ransom your captives, as well as their arms and armor, in accordance with their contract with the guild.”

“Despite the fact they broke Lucanian law at Coral Bay,” Sidonie pointed out.

“Allegedly,” Teller said. “And as I recall, the man who paid for that particular job has already been executed.” He sighed, and leaned forward. “May I be honest? I am not here as your enemy. I asked for this posting. My daughter is a student at your college.” He directed this last to Sidonie. “You want to take the money and release them into our care. It’s the best thing you can do.”

Keri narrowed his eyes: he sensed no deception. That didn’t mean that Teller was being honest – he was still learning how to use Bheuv to greatest effect. He glanced to the side, and Sharma nodded. “Explain, please,” Keri said.

“Julianne and Henry hired free companies to fight at the pass,” Teller began. “Do you foresee a circumstance in which Queen Livara might someday wish to hire mercenaries, herself?”

“That’s her decision, not mine,” Keri said, with a shrug.

“Then it would behoove you not to preclude the possibility without at least consulting with her first,” Teller told him.

Sidonie sighed. “He’s saying, Keri, that if we hang mercenaries who fought against us, we’re going to get a reputation. And if we ever need to hire a free company, they won’t want to work for us.”

“Or they’ll charge you exorbitant rates,” Teller pointed out. “For these men, it’s only business. They fight for whoever pays them coin. They don’t take sides personally. If the Northern Alliance makes it personal, you will be denying yourself a potential future resource.” He sighed. “I handle your accounts. You could use the coin.”

Keri made a fist with his good hand. He was certain this would make Liv angry – in the moment. But a century from now, could he honestly say she would never have occasion to pay professional soldiers to fight for her?”

“Fine,” he said. “I assume there are standard ransom rates for the men and their equipment?”

Teller nodded.

“Transfer the funds, and the men will be escorted south to the pass and released into Lucania,” Keri said.

Teller lifted his teacup from the table, leaned back in his chair, and drummed his fingers against the cup for a moment. “Which brings me to a second matter. The territory around the pass, particularly the surrounding mountains, is acquiring something of a dangerous reputation.”

“Bandits?” Pandit Sharma asked.

“Broken men.” Teller shrugged. “How many soldiers fought at the pass? Four thousand?”

“Nearly five,” Sidonie corrected him.

“There hasn’t been a clash of that size since the last border war with Lendh ka Dakruim ninety years ago,” Teller explained. “A lot of wounded or frightened men and women fled into the mountains, or south into Courland. I’m not talking about knights, who have someone to pay their ransom, and a home to return to. Peasants pulled from their fields don’t have the slightest idea how to get home again. They have weapons, and they’re hungry.”

“And so they turn to banditry.” Keri nodded. “I’ll take –” he caught himself, and began again, hoping that no one would point out the mistake. “I’ll send soldiers into the mountains to hunt them down.”

“Then I won’t take any more of your time.” Teller smiled, set his cup down on the table, rose from his chair, and bowed. “A pleasure, Regent. Pandit Sharma; Magia Corbett.”

Only once the banker had left the room did Sidonie speak. “Who do you want to send?”

Keri thought back to the Whitehill knights he’d met during his time at the wall. His first instinct was to send Linnea or Olavi, but the warriors who’d spent their lives in the valley would know the terrain best. “Sir Anselm,” he said, after a moment’s consideration. They’d shared a bottle of wine once, over a cookfire, and the man had told him a story about how full of confidence Liv had been, the first time she’d gone culling at Bald Peak. It wasn’t much of a personal connection, but it was a beginning, and trust needed to start somewhere.

“Who’s next?” he asked.

“Ambassador Ridley,” Sidonie answered, and Keri groaned.

“Bring her in, then.” He could only hope the woman wouldn’t keep him for too long; he’d had a local wood-carver make him a walking stick, and intended to make use of it that afternoon.

Sidonie stood, walked to the door, and stepped out into the corridor. A moment later, she led Amelina Ridley into the solar.

“Ambassador,” Keri greeted her. “You’ll forgive me for not standing, I hope.”

“Of course,” the older woman said, and took the seat so recently vacated by the banker.

Older, in this case, Keri knew, was not actually true. Not for the first time, the surreal nature of the difference between human and Eld struck him. Living at Whitehill had made it impossible to ignore that even the oldest of the humans here were actually younger than him. How strange it must have been for Liv, to spend her childhood in such a place.

“What can I do for you today?” he asked.

Ridley reached into her skirts, where Lucanian women wore their pockets, and removed an envelope of folded paper, sealed with blood-red wax. She held it out across the table. “I received this in my last package of correspondence from Freeport,” she explained. “It is an invitation for your queen to visit Freeport. I believe it's been some years since last she went.”

Keri paused, the fingers of his outstretched hand just touching the fine paper. “You must be joking,” he said. “A season ago, Lucania was threatening to have her burned alive. I cannot conceive of a circumstance that would convince me she should step foot into your kingdom.”

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“That was when we were at war,” Ridley said, with a slight shrug. “Now, we are at peace. A peace whose final terms must be voted on by the great council. Furthermore, I have been informed that the invitation is from Archmagus Loredan, specifically. His place on the council of regents assures her safety – and I believe we are both aware that he was once her teacher. Do you truly believe that he would seek to lure her into a trap?”

Keri narrowed his eyes. “Please inform your masters that I have received the invitation on Liv’s behalf,” he said. “But that, as she is presently occupied fighting against the Lady of Blood in Varuna, no response will be forthcoming until her return.”

“Of course.” Ambassador Ridley smiled brightly, rose, and curtsied. “I wish you a pleasant afternoon, then.”

☙

By the time Keri finally got down to the garden, where the buds of spring were now giving way to fresh green leaves and the earliest flowers, it was early afternoon. There, finally, he could leave the wheeled chair pushed up against one stone wall and struggle to his feet. Olavi accompanied him, and Mistress Trafford, but he was surprised to see an Elden woman with deep blue hair and one eye covered by a leather patch waiting, as well.

It took him a moment to place her name. “Aura, yes?”

The woman nodded, and stepped forward to help him out of his chair, and onto his feet. Only once Keri had his weight on the walking stick did she step back. “I wondered if I might walk with you for a while?” she asked, speaking Vakansa rather than Lucanian.

Keri almost told her to see him in the solar in the morning. Hobbling his way along the garden paths was embarrassing enough without additional people present. He was almost grateful that the stockade in the courtyard, where the prisoners from Varuna were being kept, made it impractical to exercise there. On the other hand, the courtyard, at least, was flat, while the gardens descended in a series of terraces, stairs, and winding paths.

“I don’t get to speak Vakansa much,” he admitted, gritting his teeth with the effort of making his obstinate left leg move. “Only with Linnea and Olavi. Very well, Aura of House Däivi. What do you need?”

“Were you aware that I’d begun taking classes at the Lady’s new college?” the woman asked. She offered Keri her arm, and after a moment’s hesitation, he accepted.

“You’re the first of the Vakansa who has,” he said. “Difficult not to know of it.” Slowly, they made their way past stands of apple and peach trees, berry bushes just beginning to get their leaves, and beds of basil, mint, rosemary, and a dozen other herbs that Keri didn’t recognize on sight.

“I’ve had word from my daiverim, Jalmari,” Aura explained. “He’s bringing our children here, and they should be coming south from the Bald Peak waystone sometime in the next week or so. I’ve been renting a room at the Old Oak, but that won’t be enough space for the four of us.”

Keri paused for a moment, to catch his breath. It was both embarrassing and infuriating how quickly he tired. If he had his full strength, he’d have led troops into the mountains to hunt the bandits himself. No, that wasn’t true – if he was fit, he would be in Varuna with Liv. Twenty years, he’d hunted the Cult of Ractia across the north and now, at the end, he couldn’t be there to see things finished.

“It’s going to be months yet before the buildings at Bald Peak are ready,” he said, when he could speak again. “You’ll want a home in Whitehill, until harvest season. Will your family be able to live away from the shoals for that long?”

“None of us have significant Vædic blood,” Aura admitted.

“I will speak to the banker,” Keri promised. “There are plenty of soldiers who never came back from the pass. I’m certain there will be a family who could use a bit of coin, and who will have room to spare.”

“Thank you!” Aura grinned. “If you don’t mind, Regent – you know the Lady of Winter well, don’t you? Rumor says you fought together in rifts all across the world.”

Keri looked down to watch where his boots were going; it also let him conceal how he really felt about that title. Liv was Liv; she wasn’t a goddess. And he didn’t want to deal with any more priests having to question their faith, because three words had caught the public’s imagination. “Liv and I went to the Tomb of Celris together,” he explained. “And Feic Seria. But I knew her before that – we were in Freeport at the same time, nearly eight years ago, now. I visited her once at Coral Bay, as well.” To say nothing of how he’d seen her eyes so long ago, or how she’d come to bring his spirit home.

“What’s she like?” Aura asked. “When she isn’t teaching, I mean.”

He paused, and looked up, meeting the woman’s one remaining eye. Was that hero-worship, or faith, that Keri saw? “She’s a good friend,” he said. “I trust her with my life. I have trusted her with my life.”

“But what sort of person is she?” the woman asked. “When she taught a class, she was – demanding.”

Keri laughed. “Yes, I expect she would be. She’s so naturally talented with magic, I think she doesn’t realize how hard it can be for everyone else sometimes. But what is she like?” He hesitated. “When we visited Mountain Home, she made chutes of ice for my son. We spent the entire afternoon riding shields down the side of the mountain. If there wasn’t a war? I think she’d be perfectly happy doing that. Teaching, playing with children.”

“Thank you.” Aura grinned, stepped away, and ducked her head. “I’ll let you be, then.”

Keri watched the Elden woman go, for a moment, making her way back up the garden paths. Then, he waved off Mistress Trafford and Olavi, and continued down. He knew they’d follow in his wake, hovering about in case he lost his footing and fell, but at least they were considerate enough to give him space.

Finally, he reached his destination: a stone bench, set before a small fountain which was surrounded by flowers, including the blue columbines that grew all over the mountains. There, Keri drew a quill, bottle of ink, and sheaf of parchment, folded on itself, from the pouch he wore on his belt. He set them out on the bench, and got to work.

Savel was the word of light - sunlight, in particular. Bheuv was the word of perception – most commonly, sight. Though Keri had, for most of his life, thought about magic primarily as a supplement to his fighting skills, he was now in a position where he could no longer rely on his own body. If those bandits Edwin Teller was so concerned about caught him, perhaps in a carriage on the mine road between Whitehill and Bald Peak, he would be very nearly helpless.

It was a maddening thought. Oh, he could let off a flare of burning light and kill a few attackers, if it came to it. In fact, Keri could tell that his ability to hold mana had actually been expanded by his time sleeping in the ring. But using Bheuv to predict the movements of his opponents was nearly useless now. It might help him tell which way a man was going to dodge, but Keri himself was too crippled to avoid an attack, even if he had all the warning in the world that it was coming.

If he couldn’t defend himself physically, the only thing left was to get better at magic.

His father had forced him to learn Vædic grammar - alongside Sohvis and Rika, which was another thought Keri didn’t care to indulge in, at the moment. As much as he’d hated learning how to conjugate, as much as he despised the very existence of cases and tenses, they had been pounded into his head regardless, over the course of years of study. He’d never be good enough to simply think up a new spell on the fly, like Liv was – but preparation and planning could compensate for talent, to a degree.

“Instrumental,” he murmured, dipping his quill into the ink and beginning to write. Sunlight would be the means through which the spell functioned, but the more active word would be Bheuv. “Arum’Savelet.” There was no danger in saying it aloud; without mana to fuel an invocation, without intent to shape it, the spell-fragment would do nothing. “Bheuvō;” he would be the one seeing. But how to indicate that he wished to look down, from above, like the sun shone down through the clouds? He might need to ask Master Grenfell or Sidonie for help with the right words…

“Keri,” Olavi called, from just up the path. “Someone else to see you.”

He restrained the groan. “Who is it this time?”

“Livara’s maid.”

“Thora.” Keri recalled the name: the woman had been at Freeport, and then at Coral Bay, though they’d never had a real conversation. “Send her down.”

If the dark-haired woman had looked older than Liv during their mutual visit to the Lucanian capital seven and a half years before, the difference was only more pronounced now. Thora was old enough to be wed, to have a family – but so far as Keri knew, had devoted herself to serving Liv. He corked his bottle, and set his quill aside on the stone of the bench, so that he could give her his attention.

“Lord Inkeris,” the lady’s maid said, lowering her eyes and curtseying.

“What can I do for you, Thora?” Keri asked.

The woman hesitated for a moment. “The college students are learning how to live in a rift,” she began. “And rumor is Her Majesty’s personal guard was taught the same thing.”

Keri frowned, but did not deny it. Liv had made the decision to share that secret, and he understood her reasons. What the elders would say about it, in the end, was another question altogether. “That is true.”

“I’d like to learn too,” the maid said. “I need to learn.”

“Why?” Keri asked. “You’re no mage, to go culling in the shoals of a rift. You’re no soldier, to go fighting in Varuna.”

“That’s true.” Thora visibly swallowed. “I need to learn to follow her. To do my job, and take care of her. If I can’t – I’ll be left behind.”

Left behind – just like Keri. He looked down at his notes once, and then decided that they could wait. “Sit down then,” he said. “We will begin with the breathing. You need to be comfortable with it before I take you to a rift.”

Sun fell down into the garden, warming the stone of the bench. For a moment, at least, Keri felt like he was doing some good.