Page 149 of Witchlight
Evrane Nihar was gone.
Lizl sighed—a sound loud enough to kick through the cavern like a wind. “Really? You traveled all this way, Monk, so you could offernowords of respect?”
Yes,Aeduan wanted to reply. Instead, he mumbled, “I remembered my duty. I remembered who I am.” The words were directed at Evrane—a closing statement to a conversation they’d begun many miles southwest of here, on the shores of Nubrevna.
And also, a conversation begun the day she’d found him burning alive inside a Nomatsi tent where swamp and crocodiles stewed. She could have left that boy with the holes on his body, but instead she saved him. Instead, shemadehim become more than the witchery he’d been cursed with.
And see?he could almost imagine her saying, with that infuriating faithof hers.I was right, was I not? You were more than your magic. And your magic, it would seem, was also more than you.
“You remembered your duty,” Lizl muttered, pushing to standing. “Great. I could have saved you the trouble and done that duty for you. Alone. But I held on to this opal, thinking you’d want to do right by the woman who raised us. But how typical of you, Monk Aeduan. Only ever thinking of yourself.”
Aeduan sniffed as he also rose—with more grace and less spite. “Thank you for that, Abbot Thewan. I am grateful.”
“No, you’re not.” An eye roll as Lizl strode on her long legs toward the nearest stairwell out of this underground shrine. It was clear she had more to say, but she kept the words chewed back until they were out of the Monastery’s depths and stepping into the cold, wintery night.
The Sleeping Giant’s stars flared down.
And Aeduan caught a whiff of sun-drenched meadows on the wind. It blew over the stone ramparts and made his lips twitch with an almost smile.
“I’ve done as the Cahr Awen commanded,” Lizl told him, leading Aeduan north toward her tower. This was not the most direct route, but he appreciated the open air after the cold solemnity of the shrine. “I have… I think it was thirteen suitable candidates? They’re young, but promising. Like we were at that age.” She bared a sideways grin. Then amended, “Or more likeIwas at that age. I’m still not sure about you.”
Aeduan let his lips twitch again, and this time in a way that Lizl could see. His cloak snapped around him, carried by the mountain wind. Hers billowed too, but with the old bloodstains that she refused to remove.
They smelled like Natan fon Leid. Like cackling laughter and bloodied knuckles, like endless hunger and mountain cold. Not that Aeduan had told Lizl this. For her, those stains marked change. For him…
Well, he’d had enough blood to last a lifetime. Enough bleeding, enough death, enough battle and brutality and red staining snow.
“I know you said,” Lizl continued, “that the Cahr Awen wished to travel for a time—to fully sink into this new role they’ve formed for themselves. And I know you also told me that magic isn’t fully stable yet, since there are fewer than six sources to replenish us. But I do think it’s important that apprentices be brought in as soon as possible. If we’re going to train these acolytes to sense when magic is being abused and overused, it’s got to start now.
“And, I think… Well, an apprentice for you is even more urgent. The tools you carry will be a responsibility one must learn as young as possible.”
“Yes,” Aeduan agreed, and while his right hand moved to the Truth-sword sheathed at his hip, his left hand went to a small pouch added to his baldric. There, next to his stiletto, was the Truth-lens tucked safely away.
“Tool-Bearer.” Lizl’s eyes lingered on the pouch at Aeduan’s chest. “Fancy title.”
“Stupid title, more like.” Aeduan shook his head. “But I understand why the Truth… I mean, why thelight-bringerfeels it’s important to give the role a name. Whomever replaces me, now and long into the future, will need to know the full weight of what they carry.”And how dangerous it will be if these tools ever fall into the wrong hands.
“I still think you should take more monks with you on your travels.” Lizl slowed to a stop, pausing at a gap in the ramparts that revealed the entire valley and frozen river beyond.
No Aether Well shone. There was only a blank island—and a small cooking fire sparkling in the trees. He had no idea who would make a camp there. It was such an inhospitable place to spend the night, steeped in that samestrangenessAeduan had felt in the forests near Poznin. Some residue of the Old One that had been there.
Or perhaps just some remnant of what Iseult had done to save Aeduan’s life months before that, when she’d swallowed flames to save him.
Think of Iseult. Reach for the silver taler.
The taler had somehow survived everything that had happened in Poznin. When the smoke, ash, storm, and tide had cleared, Aeduan had found it around his neck. The leather thong had been almost shredded, but a narrow strand had still remained.
He’d immediately returned it to Iseult. Who was, of course, nowhere near here. She and the light-bringer were in Dalmotti, preparing for a new Truce Summit. Still, Aeduan’s instincts could not be quelled simply because the brain knew better.
Except then it came: a punch against Aeduan’s magic, against his senses, of the silver talerrightthere.
His chest constricted so hard, his breath burst out. A small cloud into the night. His first thought was that this was a game—another trick by the prince of Cartorra to lure Aeduan exactly where he’d lured him before…
But the prince was gone. Aeduan knew he was gone because he had—for some intangible, almost aching reason—tracked the lingering scraps of Leopold’s scent all the way to a door in the mountain. Then through that door into the Sleeping Lands.
Where only the goddess’s ice had awaited him.
Which meant that it reallywasIseult down there. Inexplicably, she was here; that was her fire; and she must know that Aeduan would come to her.
