springtime never came?
Grace stood, shivering inside her fur-lined cape. After their meeting that morning, Boreas had begun giving orders; what forces they had were to prepare to march north in three days. There was no point in delaying, the king had said. The journey would be a long one, since they would be forced to avoid Eredane and its Onyx Knights, and instead travel through Toloria, then follow the eastern edge of the Fal Erenn north through Perridon and Embarr to Shadowsdeep.
Grace hadn't bothered mentioning that, by the time they reached Embarr, it could be under the sway of the Onyx Knights as well, and even if it wasn't, the Raven Cult was rampant there. However, none of that mattered. Much as she wanted to find an escape, she knew there wasn't one.
She touched the hilt of Fellring, belted at her side.
You sacrificed yourself to reforge this sword, Sindar. Am I supposed to sacrifice myself to reforge the Dominions?
Only sacrificing herself wasn't what she was afraid of. At Denver Memorial, she had always given of herself without limits to heal the wounds of others. No, it was sacrificing the hundreds who were to march with her, and the thousands more that would follow after with Boreas, that terrified her.
If there's no way to stop these things from happening, Grace, then you can't let it all be for nothing. You have to get to Gravenfist Keep, and you have to find a way to hold the Pale King back.
Only how was she supposed to discover the key to unlocking the magical defenses of a centuries-old fortress? Falken always seemed to know about everything, but even the bard didn't know how she was supposed to accomplish this. It was hopeless. She sighed and turned to walk from the garden.
Music chimed on the cold air, high and distant—the sound of bells.
Grace froze, listening. She could hear wind over branches and the thudding of her own heart. Then it came again, faint but clear, like sleigh bells on a winter's night.
She turned and ran farther down a path. Why hadn't she thought of it before? They were more ancient than anyone. If anyone knew what she had to do, the Little People would. Clutching her cape, she raced around a bend in the path—
—and came to a halt. The path ended in a grotto; there was no way to continue on. Yet Grace was sure this was the direction the sound of the bells had come from.
“Are you searching for something, Grace?”
A lithe form separated itself from a shadow and stalked forward.
“Vani,” Grace said the name like a gasp. “I didn't see you there.”
The
T'gol
shrugged, as if to say this was only to be expected. Grace knew Vani hated the cold. What was she doing out here?
“Did you hear them?” Grace said.
“Hear what?”
“The bells. I was following the sound of them when I ran into you.”
Vani frowned. Dark circles hung underneath her eyes, as if she had not slept well lately. “I heard no such sound. The only noise was the sound of your approach.”
The sound of the bells had been distant, but the
T'gol
had keen ears. Surely if Grace had been able to hear it, Vani should have as well. Unless the music had been meant only for Grace. But if so, why had they led her to this place? She doubted Vani knew anything about Gravenfist Keep or its ancient magic.
Not that she was sorry to run into Vani. Grace had seen little of the
T'gol
lately. Ever since their time on the fairy ship, Vani had been acting every bit as strangely as Beltan had, and things had only gotten worse since Travis left them three weeks ago.
“You miss him, don't you?” Grace said the words when she had only meant to think them.
Vani stiffened. “As we all do.”
“No, not as we all do.” Grace knew she should leave the
T'gol
alone with her pain. Instead, she closed the gap between them. “You love him, Vani. And so does Beltan. Travis's leaving has been hard for you. For both of you.”
Vani crossed her arms over her stomach. “It is for the best that he's gone. This way he will
Grace stood, shivering inside her fur-lined cape. After their meeting that morning, Boreas had begun giving orders; what forces they had were to prepare to march north in three days. There was no point in delaying, the king had said. The journey would be a long one, since they would be forced to avoid Eredane and its Onyx Knights, and instead travel through Toloria, then follow the eastern edge of the Fal Erenn north through Perridon and Embarr to Shadowsdeep.
Grace hadn't bothered mentioning that, by the time they reached Embarr, it could be under the sway of the Onyx Knights as well, and even if it wasn't, the Raven Cult was rampant there. However, none of that mattered. Much as she wanted to find an escape, she knew there wasn't one.
She touched the hilt of Fellring, belted at her side.
You sacrificed yourself to reforge this sword, Sindar. Am I supposed to sacrifice myself to reforge the Dominions?
Only sacrificing herself wasn't what she was afraid of. At Denver Memorial, she had always given of herself without limits to heal the wounds of others. No, it was sacrificing the hundreds who were to march with her, and the thousands more that would follow after with Boreas, that terrified her.
If there's no way to stop these things from happening, Grace, then you can't let it all be for nothing. You have to get to Gravenfist Keep, and you have to find a way to hold the Pale King back.
Only how was she supposed to discover the key to unlocking the magical defenses of a centuries-old fortress? Falken always seemed to know about everything, but even the bard didn't know how she was supposed to accomplish this. It was hopeless. She sighed and turned to walk from the garden.
Music chimed on the cold air, high and distant—the sound of bells.
Grace froze, listening. She could hear wind over branches and the thudding of her own heart. Then it came again, faint but clear, like sleigh bells on a winter's night.
She turned and ran farther down a path. Why hadn't she thought of it before? They were more ancient than anyone. If anyone knew what she had to do, the Little People would. Clutching her cape, she raced around a bend in the path—
—and came to a halt. The path ended in a grotto; there was no way to continue on. Yet Grace was sure this was the direction the sound of the bells had come from.
“Are you searching for something, Grace?”
A lithe form separated itself from a shadow and stalked forward.
“Vani,” Grace said the name like a gasp. “I didn't see you there.”
The
T'gol
shrugged, as if to say this was only to be expected. Grace knew Vani hated the cold. What was she doing out here?
“Did you hear them?” Grace said.
“Hear what?”
“The bells. I was following the sound of them when I ran into you.”
Vani frowned. Dark circles hung underneath her eyes, as if she had not slept well lately. “I heard no such sound. The only noise was the sound of your approach.”
The sound of the bells had been distant, but the
T'gol
had keen ears. Surely if Grace had been able to hear it, Vani should have as well. Unless the music had been meant only for Grace. But if so, why had they led her to this place? She doubted Vani knew anything about Gravenfist Keep or its ancient magic.
Not that she was sorry to run into Vani. Grace had seen little of the
T'gol
lately. Ever since their time on the fairy ship, Vani had been acting every bit as strangely as Beltan had, and things had only gotten worse since Travis left them three weeks ago.
“You miss him, don't you?” Grace said the words when she had only meant to think them.
Vani stiffened. “As we all do.”
“No, not as we all do.” Grace knew she should leave the
T'gol
alone with her pain. Instead, she closed the gap between them. “You love him, Vani. And so does Beltan. Travis's leaving has been hard for you. For both of you.”
Vani crossed her arms over her stomach. “It is for the best that he's gone. This way he will
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