He thanked the healer and made his way outside, walking along the wharf to where Vaelin stood regarding the huge Volarian warship. He was aware of the many glances he drew as he walked, and more than a few openly hostile glares, but mostly just fear or surprise. He might still be the Red Brother to some, but to most he was now the King’s Assassin, freed by virtue of their queen’s endless grace. She stirred no fear in them, only adulation, and they laboured tirelessly at her command. Everywhere he looked people were at work, rebuilding fallen walls, hammers ringing in makeshift forges and new recruits being drilled to unaccustomed discipline. He saw fatigue on many faces but no idleness, all moving to their allotted tasks with a singular determination.
He heard raised voices on the ship as he neared, his eyes picking out two figures on the deck, one short, the other tall. The shorter of the two seemed to have the loudest voice. “Your sister has a surprisingly waspish tongue, brother,” Frentis observed to Vaelin.
“Our new Lord of the Queen’s Yard brings out the worst in her,” he replied, watching Alornis angrily bunch up a sheaf of parchment and throw it in Davern’s face before stomping off the gangplank. “He asked her to make drawings of the ship. Something I suspect he now regrets.”
“Arrogant numb-head!” Alornis fumed, having made her way to the quay, her stern visage unmoved by her brother’s comforting hug.
“He didn’t like the drawings?” Vaelin asked.
“It wasn’t the drawings.” She raised her voice, casting it back at the ship. “It’s his pigheaded refusal to listen to reasonable advice!”
“I’m sure he knows his business,” Vaelin said, earning a reproving scowl.
“This monstrosity,” she said pointing at the
“Your own design being more elegant, no doubt?”
“Actually, yes, dear brother, it is.” She drew herself up, clutching her satchel to her chest. “I shall take this to the queen.” She gave Frentis a stiff bow and walked off with a determined gait.
“When last I met her,” Frentis said, “she was more softly spoken.”
“We are all much changed, brother.” Vaelin turned away from the ship, walking towards the mole with Frentis falling in alongside. “The queen’s design for you,” he said, halting a good distance from other ears. “You can refuse.”
“Hardly, brother. Nor would I wish to.”
Vaelin gazed out to sea, grey waters chopped by the wind under a turbulent sky. “The woman who haunts your dreams, do you think she will sense your coming?”
“Possibly. Though I’m hoping Brother Kehlan’s physic will mask my thoughts. In any case, her interest in me might work to our advantage, my mission being diversionary.”
“It seems we both have hard roads ahead of us.”
“It would be best if you don’t share your course with me. If she found me and somehow took me alive, I . . . doubt I could keep secrets from her should she bind me again.”
Vaelin nodded, turning back from the sea, sorrow plain on his brow. “I searched for you for such a long time, casting my song out far and wide, but I never caught more than the vaguest glimpse. Now, it seems I am bound to send you away again and have no song to find you in any case.”
“I have much to balance, brother. And an assassin shouldn’t linger in sight of his victim’s sister.” He extended his hand and Vaelin gripped it tight. “We’ll find each other in Volar, of that I’ve no doubt.”
• • •
The headache was everything Brother Kehlan promised, the pain alleviated somewhat by the welcome realisation that the concoction worked. His sleep had been free of dreams, absent any further horrors or entreaties to surrender to her will. He had continued to sleep at the Blackhold in the days since his release, he and Lekran now more comfortably accommodated in the guard room. It was a strange feeling to reside in such a large building now stripped of all but two occupants, the queen having quickly redeployed her guardsmen to training duties. He found the former Kuritai at practice in the courtyard, moving with all the speed and precision instilled by years of conditioning and battle. Instead of the usual twin swords today he wielded an axe, whirling as he fought an army of imaginary opponents.
