CHAPTER

Twelve

As Tristan made the long walk to his sister‘s chambers, he couldn‘t help but reflect upon how lonely this place was. Lonely, yet at the same time so incredibly beautiful. The Redoubt was gigantic in size, originally meant for the training of the several thousand consuls who had once inhabited it. The relatively few people who lived here now seemed lost within the expanses yawning before them.

He knew that Shailiha greatly missed both her husband and their parents. Despite the fact that Faegan, Geldon, and the gnomes would still be here with her, it would be even lonelier for her with him gone.

But he had mixed feelings about leaving, he realized, as he listened to the heels of his knee boots ringing out against the marble floor. Although part of him wanted to stay here with his sister and see personally to the safety of both her and her baby, he also longed to be outdoors.

He selfishly wanted to feel his stallion beneath him again, and to take in the pine-laden scent of the Hartwick Woods. Tristan was a man of action, and always had been. When there was no task before him his spirit always died a little, these last weeks in the Redoubt having been no exception.

As he finally approached Shailiha‘s door he knocked softly once, then twice more. At the sound of her voice, he walked in.

Standing in the doorway and looking into her room, his first reaction was one of shock. But then his mind slowly uncoiled, realizing that what he saw before him was only the re-creation of a pleasant memory, nothing more. Shailiha was sitting with her back to him, before a great loom. As she sat there calmly working the threads, her long, blond hair trailing down over her shoulders, the prince had immediately mistaken her for their late mother. Morganna had sat tirelessly at her looms, eventually passing the art on to her daughter. Just as the queen‘s mother had taught her, so long ago.

Shailiha is so much like her, he thought. And I am so fortunate to have her back in my life.

His sister turned to smile at him, but he could tell her expression was a bit forced. Clearly, his impending departure weighed heavily on her mind.

―Where did the loom come from?‖ Tristan asked her. ―I thought everything in the palace was destroyed or looted.‖

―Wigg was kind enough to conjure it for me,‖ she answered. ―It helps to pass the time, and somehow seems to help keep me closer to the memory of our mother.‖ She paused for a moment, then looked up into her brother‘s eyes.

―You‘re leaving sooner than expected, aren‘t you?‖ she asked, already knowing the answer.

Tristan nodded. ―Wigg and I thought it best we leave in the dark.‖

―I see,‖ she said softly. ―Then I shall have to see to it that Morganna and I give you a proper good-bye.‖

Standing, she looked at him and was struck again by how much he had changed. She glanced at the weapons he constantly carried, one of which—the dreggan, the curved sword of the Minions—was still rather unfamiliar to her.

―You look like you‘re going into battle,‖ she said darkly. As she so often did when distressed, she bit her lip.

He grinned. ―Don‘t worry. Wigg will be with me. Should anyone try to interfere with us, he probably won‘t even need his magic. In truth, I doubt there‘s anything his sarcasm can‘t overcome. He will probably just insult them to death.‖ He laughed, trying to lighten her mood.

He walked across the room to the crib and looked down into the face of his niece, Morganna.

She always seemed to be such a happy baby. What hair she had was wispy, blond fluff; her large, expressive eyes were blue, like his own. He knew it was too soon to determine what her coloring would eventually be, but something told him she would remain blond, like her mother and her grandmother.

Looking down at her, his own sad memories of leaving his son in the little grave in Parthalon came back to revisit him. He no longer struggled to push away the pain of these thoughts, as he had tried to do immediately following the tragedy. There was clearly no longer any use in trying. His memories of burying the child had been returning to him in very graphic dreams lately. Several times he had almost talked to Wigg about it, to see if there was anything in the craft that could be employed to help make the nightmares stop. But in the end he had decided to hang on to his memories, the nightmares included, and let them come whenever they may.

For it was all of Nicholas he had left.

Nicholas should be here, in the family cemetery. One day I will bring him back, and bury him where he rightfully belongs. He heard Morganna coo up at him then, and he returned his attention to the living, breathing child who lay before him.

Shailiha walked next to him, linking her arm in his, her smile apparently genuine as she too looked down into the crib. ―So tell me something, little brother,‖ she teased, wrinkling her nose up at him in that special way of hers. ―Just what is it that you did not wish to tell the wizards this afternoon in our meeting with them? I got the distinct impression you were hiding something. What exactly happened out there last night that you aren‘t telling us?‖

Turning back to her, Tristan snorted a short laugh of surrender. He might as well give in. She would be relentless in this, just as she always was whenever his welfare was concerned.

―I met a woman,‖ he said simply.

―Ah. Well, that‘s nothing new, now is it?‖ she teased. ―And just who is this woman?‖ Her face became humorously conspiratorial. ―Is she beautiful?‖

―Oh, yes, very,‖ he answered, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes slightly at the memory.

Thinking back, he could almost smell the scent of myrrh that had come from her hair. His face grew a bit more serious. ―She is perhaps the loveliest I have ever seen.‖

―Really!‖ Shailiha answered, one of her eyebrows raised. ―That‘s quite an accomplishment, given some of the ones you have been with. Tell me, what is her name? Perhaps I know her.‖

―I seriously doubt that you know this one.‖ He smiled.

―The name,‖ Shailiha demanded, lowering her voice in mock ferociousness.

―I don‘t know, Shai,‖ he answered quietly.

“You don"t know?” she exclaimed, far too incredulously. Shailiha shook her head back and forth in comic ridicule, while she waggled an index finger in his face. ―You‘re slipping, little brother! The Tristan I knew would have gotten her name and much, much more.‖

She took in the almost serious look on his face and decided to press a little more. Reaching out to grasp his chin with one hand, she turned his head to level her hazel eyes on his. ―Why, if I didn‘t know you better, I‘d think you were smitten!‖ She laughed.

―Don‘t be ridiculous,‖ he answered tersely, determined to change the subject and regain control of the conversation. ―I don‘t even know who she is.‖

―No matter. Your secret‘s safe with me,‖ she teased. But just as in the old days she had something to hang over his head, and she loved it. They smiled at other, happy to know that their relationship was back to normal.

Then she remembered that he was about to leave her, and her face darkened. ―Tristan,‖ she said, more softly this time, ―what would our world truly be like without the craft of magic?‖

He didn‘t really know how to answer her. ―I‘m not sure,‖ he said. ―But what concerns me most is the fact that if the Paragon, is depleted, neither Faegan nor Wigg will be protected by the time enchantments. Their powers will wane, and then they will most assuredly die. And time is short, making things even worse.‖

Her expression became more introspective, and she reached to touch the medallion around his neck. ―I want to help,‖ she said, ―but there seems so little I can do. Tell me honestly—do you think there ever might come a day when the wizards would let me learn the craft?‖

He could see the hunger in her eyes, and understood it well. After all, her blood was nearly the equal of his, so her desire for the learning of the craft must be nearly as strong. But ever since the Sorceresses‘ War, the Directorate had banned the teaching of magic to women—a custom that he now found to be cruel.

―I hope you may one day be trained,‖ he said. ―Just as I am to be. But for now, the emphasis must be placed upon retrieving the Tome and stopping the decay of the stone. Until then, all of our other wishes must be put aside.‖

He put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her a little closer. ―I must go now,‖ he said softly.

―Wigg will be waiting.‖

―Before you leave, would you please tell me about the graves?‖ she asked. It was almost as if she was afraid she would never see him again. ―Were they truly undisturbed, as you told the wizards? Did you tell Mother, Father, and Frederick the things I asked you to?‖

He closed his eyes, trying to fight back the rising grief. ―Of course I did, Shai,‖ he answered.

―I got down on my knees and told them everything. And they heard me, I know.‖

Closing her eyes in gratitude, she gave him a long embrace. ―Come home safe,‖ she whispered.

―I promise,‖ he assured her. With that he turned and walked out the door, purposely not looking back at her. Looking back would have been much too hard—for both of them.

Shailiha reached down into the crib and picked up her baby. She held Morganna tightly in her arms, as if by keeping the child close she could somehow also keep her brother safe. Then she looked over at the door her brother had just gone through.

Suddenly, from deep inside her, a cold, gnawing voice told her something she did not want to hear.

Neither Tristan nor Wigg will come home to you the same men as when they left.