Chapter Text

“Trainee Stefen.”

Stef tried not to fidget as Breda met his eyes across the table. She wasn’t normally so formal. Today was different.

“You’ve completed all the required coursework,” she went on, “and your evaluations are in. And excellent. Everyone agrees that, when it comes to your musical skill and training, you’re ready to graduate.”

Stef nodded, keeping his expression steady. It wasn’t bragging, to say he knew exactly how good he was, it was just true.

“I spoke to Katha,” Breda added. “She’s pleased with your progress.”

Stef had been training with Katha for over a year. The Herald-spymaster had taken just a week off when her daughter was born. She sometimes wore the three-month-old in a sling when in her private office. Stef didn’t even know who the babe’s father was.

Breda laid her palms flat on the tabletop. “Stef, you’ve been with us five years, you’re the best student I’ve had in the last decade, and I would promote you to full Bard in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, it’s not my decision alone, and there is politics involved. I’ve spoken to Dellar and he thinks we have two options. We can graduate you early, or we can waive your Journeyman circuit, but not both. You’re fifteen–”

“I might be sixteen already,” Stef protested. “If my name day was early in the year.”

“Perhaps. Nonetheless. During all my time at Bardic, no one has ever graduated before eighteen, and twenty is more common. It’s going to ruffle some feathers, and there’ll be whispers of favouritism. Especially given your Wild Gift and your role with King Randale. It’s worth it – you’re worth it, Stef – but we need to make it palatable.”

Palatable to minor nobles who would be miffed that their precious prodigies weren’t Bards at sixteen. Even now, there were people who wouldn’t believe that a gutter rat from Three Rivers had earned his place on merit alone.

Stef had almost found himself wishing that there were the same pressures on the Bardic Council as there were on the Heralds. They’d been graduating trainees at sixteen or even younger during the Karsite war, sending them straight to border circuits; he had heard all about it from Savil at one of Lady Treesa’s dinner parties.

He looked away. “So those are my options? Stay here as a student another two years, or go out and leave Randi to cope without me?” At least Shavri was practiced enough at imitating Stef’s painblocking Gift to manage without Randi in trance, so she could cover his meetings, and several other Healers, Gemma foremost, could step in for the rest.

“You wouldn’t have to take classes,” Breda assured him. “I could find you something to do as an assistant instructor, maybe.”

But he would still be a trainee for all intents and purposes, wearing a rust-coloured uniform instead of scarlet, with none of the privileges of rank.

And, he had to admit, setting a record for the youngest promotion to full Bard in generations was very appealing.

“Has anyone talked to Randi?” he said.

“Of course. Katha did.” Breda settled back, folding her hands over her knees. “She has a little agenda of her own, I think. Asked if she could have input on your route.”

“Oh?” That sounded intriguing. Maybe related to the Problem? It was in capital letters in his head – the mysterious trouble that had sent Herald Vanyel on an away mission for the last year. Breda had come to their room shortly before Midwinter to warn Medren about the delay, and told him not to worry, his uncle was perfectly all right.

Which had made Stef considerably more suspicious.

He had been good, though, and kept to his oath, not speculating with Jisa at all. Not that he’d seen her much in recent months. Her lessons kept her busy, and he wasn’t swimming in free time either.

Breda’s hint of a smile broadened. “She’d like it if you went north – all the way to the new annexed territory, actually – and kept an ear to the ground. Everyone knows that Bards are nosy; it’s expected. Even the suspicious mountain-folk who don’t trust Heralds yet, apparently think that Valdemaran Bards are very romantic, and we all know you could charm the hair off a goat.”

Stef felt his cheeks growing warm. He tried to conceal it with a smirk. “I imagine I could do that for her.”

Breda returned his expression. “I imagine you could. So. Is that the option you would prefer?”

“I need to think on it,” Stef said automatically. Negotiation tactic. Never let them push you to decide on the spot, Katha had said, but Stef had known it since he was tiny.

“Of course.” Breda’s dark head bent for a moment, and then her hand slid out across the table. “Stef. Listen. You should know that I am very, very proud of you.”

Stef let her take his hand. “I do know.” To his surprise, his throat felt a little tight. “It’s been an honour learning from you, Breda.”

“Oh, don’t think that you’re out from under that, lad.” Breda’s voice was rough as well. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It was like seeing her for the first time. Grey combed into her dark hair. Creases around her eyes and mouth, laughter and pain both. He had eased her dazzle-headaches countless times in the last year; other than Randale, she was the only person he never begrudged helping.

Strange. Breda had never seemed old to him before, but she was probably older than Berte had been when he had left Three Rivers.

Berte. I wonder if she ever thinks of me. If she hadn’t been relegated to a shallow unmarked grave years ago.

It was a stupid question, to ask if Berte would be proud of him.

“I can’t believe it,” Jisa said again. “Stef… I’m going to miss you.”

They were in his room at Bardic, both sitting on his bed. Medren was out. Stef’s things were already half-packed, the remainder strewn across his side of the room. Stef sat perched on the bed, thin legs folded under him, like a bird about to take flight.

“I’ll miss you too.” Then he lifted his head, a grin lighting his face. “I’m going to come back with the best song-cycle ever.”

“Of course you will.”

They both lapsed into silence. There were so many things she wanted to say, piling on top of each other.

“Stef?” Jisa said finally, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt; as usual for when she wasn’t in classes or at the House of Healing, she wore plain brown homespun, the sort of clothing she donned for training in the salle. “Can I ask your advice on something?”

“Sure.”

“It’s about Lady Treesa.” This was her last chance to ask. “She’s very anxious for Van to be back, and she…seems to want something. She won’t outright say it but she keeps sort of hinting.” It was infuriating – grownups who couldn’t have a straightforward conversation and had to talk around everything were one of Jisa’s least favourite things – but Lady Treesa was the person she was. In her fifties now, she probably wasn’t going to change.

“What sort of thing?” Stef said, curiosity flashing.

Jisa had known he would be intrigued – and he was much, much better at the sort of reading-between-the-lines that Jisa needed to resort to, now that she was old enough to know it was unethical to read anyone’s mind for answers.

“She wishes his father got along better with him, I think,” Jisa said slowly. “I never realized they got on badly. Withen is – well, I’d think he’s the sort of person who understands duty.” And thus understand his eldest son a lot better than his wife, surely.

Stef’s fingertips played out a syncopated beat against his chin. “Medren told me once that Lord Ashkevron was horrible to him when he was younger.” Something tightened in his face. “Because of him being shaych and all.”

“Oh.” Somehow that had failed to occur to her at all, though now the pieces were slotting together. A dozen moments, over the few dinners she had shared with Uncle Van and his parents before his mysterious departure. The way Lady Treesa had asked if Vanyel was seeing anyone, bright and hopeful, and then Withen had cleared his throat and Van’s shoulders had gone tense…

It was, in her opinion, an incredibly stupid reason for Withen to be upset. She wasn’t as innocent as she had been at seven, though; she knew it was something people had strong feelings about. Especially people who were old-fashioned. Which described Withen if it described anyone.

Stef was fiddling with his own tunic how. “Medren told me they didn’t speak at all for five years. Back when he was a little boy. Guess it’s better now, but…”

But there was history between them, buried under the surface. Jisa was starting to understand better how that kind of thing worked, even if it seemed idiotic to her.

“Should I talk to him?” she said, trying to hide the reluctance in her voice. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Withen, but approaching him was like trying to climb a brick wall.

Stef tugged at his hair. “Let me think… No. But you should talk to Lady Treesa. I hear wives have ways of making their husbands…unhappy, if they don’t fall in line.”

Jisa made a face. “That doesn’t sound very ethical, Stef.”

“Fine, then don’t.” He folded his arms. “Maybe you could suggest a carrot instead of a stick. Wives can make their husbands very happy as well, if they’re so inclined.”

“Stef!” Now her cheeks were hot.

“Well, it’s true.” Stef’s voice was still light, almost flippant, but there was a tension underneath. Jisa didn’t need Thoughtsensing to guess why it bothered him. And why he might care a great deal more than he was letting on about making Vanyel’s life better in this one, small way.

Still. “I’m not helping her manipulate him.” Jisa ran her hand across the covers, thoughtful. “Maybe I will talk to her, though.” From her oblique mutters, Treesa had been trying to convince Withen to – reconcile, apologize, or just be warmer to Van, Jisa wasn’t sure what – for years, but she was terrible at communicating. They both were; it was awful. Withen probably had no idea what she wanted.

There was still tension in the line of Stef’s shoulders, but he smiled. “Wish I could stay and help, but I’ll be very impressed if you pull that off, Jisa.”

That sealed it. She was going to get Withen to apologize, and she was going to do it while Stef was away, without his help. And prove that she could be just as persuasive as he was.

Savil sagged down into her overstuffed armchair, a moment before her knees gave. :You’re sure?:

:Rolan Mindtouched us directly: Kellan answered. :The moment he was back in range. They’re a day’s ride from the Border. Van can’t Gate back from there, unfortunately, but even so, they should be home within the week:

Thank the gods. Savil had been waiting impatiently for news ever since the snow started melting in Haven, knowing that the Plains were eight hundred miles further south and spring would already have arrived.

The year was 807. The birds were singing outside, the Palace gardens were sprouting flowers, and her nephew was headed home. Unfortunate that Van had missed Karis’ spring visit – the Queen had Gated back to Sunhame just a few days ago – but no one had really expected them to be back in time. It would have to wait until Midsummer, unless the news he brought them had truly urgent implications.

Which it might. The truce with Leareth – and despite everyone’s expectations, they had no evidence he had broken it – was expiring in less than three weeks.

:Randi knows?: she checked.

:Of course. His Sondra already got his attention: A pause. :Tran will organize a meeting for tonight, after his audience:

Randi, bless him, had been delegating more and more over recent months; he took only one audience per week himself, now, and for most of the Council meetings he would appoint one of the senior Heralds as a spokesperson, rotating so that it wasn’t always on Tran.

Savil thought it was an excellent idea. Elspeth had always done everything herself, even in her seventies. Randi’s grandmother had been a truly remarkable woman, who would go down in Valdemar’s history as an incredible Queen – nine years after her death, everyone agreed on that – but no one could take on that much and still do it well. Too much had fallen through the cracks as a result.

Randi had even been offloading more of the routine work to non-Heralds. Lancir had pushed for that back in 790, after a certain autumn that Savil still preferred not to think about, but Elspeth had never really had her heart in it. Now, five years after the new merit-based Collegium had opened, they had a first crop of graduates, and Randi was snapping the best of them up as clerks and secretaries. Savil had her own assistant, Lita, a bright-eyed young woman from Traderest who helped her plan her schedule and made notes for her before meetings. She ought to try harder to find the girl useful things to do. Lita wasn’t Gifted, but she had devoured several of Savil’s introductory treatises on magecraft, and had a surprisingly good grasp of the terminology.

It helped. Savil would never have thought they could manage without Van for an entire year, but they had. Not without sacrifices – a slew of deadlines on routine mage-work had been pushed back – but border security had been maintained, and nothing critical had been dropped. As Randi had pointed out, it was very relevant to find out whether Valdemar could manage without Vanyel.

It should have been good news, that the answer was apparently yes, but it hurt to think about.

Without him, they had exactly six Herald-Mages. Tamara, Nani, and Etran were each singlehandedly covering an entire border, respectively the north, east, and west. Savil, Kilchas and Sandra were in Haven. It was a major change from her youth, keeping the most powerful and experienced mages permanently in the capital – but with the Web, it was workable, and she had to admit that none of them were much suited to circuit life anymore.

She was seventy-six now. The age Queen Elspeth had been when she died, though Savil liked to think she wore her years better.

They had the eight mages from Baires, who weren’t completely useless. And Arkady Mavelan, so far more of a headache than he was worth, but that could change. Someday.

And the trade she had made in exchange for teaching him had brought them some value. Savil had a half-built attempt at a permanent Gate terminus sitting in one of the unused Work Rooms – there were a dozen of those scattered around the Palace, legacy of a time when there had been more than a handful of mages. She had cast the threshold, and the keystone; it lacked only a power-source now. Even that much meant that in theory, if she built one outside a sealed Work Room, she would be able to fuel the initial steps of the Gate from node-energy rather than her own reserves – the structure was already there, laid into the stone, no need to hold all of it in her own mind.

Not all that useful, given that there were exactly four mages in Valdemar who could use node-energy at all. Arkady was the only one of the Baires mages with a strong enough Gift to do it even in theory, and she was loathe to teach him until he was more in control of his temper, which she was starting to doubt would ever happen.

She had explored the rest of Natti’s books, and learned a number of techniques for constructing bridges, walls, and impressively tall buildings with the aid of magic. Not something she intended to implement, though she had written up all of her notes for the Archives. The last thing Valdemar needed was to be more dependent on mages.

Van is coming home. It was a whispered litany in the back of her mind, disrupting every thread of thought, pulses of joy with each repetition. Six months ago, part of her might have dreaded it. Things had changed. I’ve changed. She wasn’t looking forward to their inevitable conversation, exactly, but the thought of it no longer made her whole mind freeze up.

Amazing, really, that she could still feel joy. Leareth was still out there, and despite a year’s worth of all the preparations they could make in secret, they were so, so far from ready to do anything about it. Looking back, though, she agreed with Randi’s choice not to have told the Council. They had all needed time to take in the enormity of it.

We can’t afford to be stuck thinking short-term. Words she had said to Randi, and that he had said to her in turn, countless times. A mantra to live by, even in these strange and confusing times.

It shouldn’t have been so strange, standing in his own room.

Vanyel locked the door behind him, let his saddlebags slide to the floor, and then sent a mage-light to the ceiling and just turned on the spot. Someone must have taken the time to air it out, because nothing smelled musty – only a whiff of lavender and sendle, sheets and bedding unpacked from winter storage. His desk was pristine, any hint of dust wiped away. Tayledras decorations hung above his mantlepiece, beside a progression of Jisa’s drawings.

He had been gone for longer at a stretch during the Karsite war, but even then, returning hadn’t felt nearly so alien.

Savil had come out to greet him in the stables, and that at least had felt just like old times. He was invited to have supper in her quarters, but Vanyel wanted some time alone to unpack. And think.

:’Fandes: he reached, apropos of nothing.

:I know, love: She had been listening in to his surface thoughts. :Feels odd for me as well. Rolan’s settling right in, but – I don’t know. It almost feels like I don’t belong:

He had never asked her what she and Rolan had talked about, during the month that he had been insensible in a buried fortress and she had been trapped on the surface. It had passed in a haze for him; even now, he remembered only a few fragments from before Yfandes had Gated in.

Another conversation to have once things were settled again – no. A stumble in his thoughts. Don’t keep putting it off into a future that’s never going to arrive.

He crossed into the bedroom, pulled the curtains wide, and faced the mirror. His hair had grown out a few inches; it was an incredibly annoying length, in fact, constantly in his eyes but still too short to tie back. The price he had to pay if he eventually wanted it long again, which he did.

There was still some black, amidst the silver, but not a lot. If anything, his hair was further to white now than in the Foresight dream, if that still meant anything at all.

He leaned closer. Gods, I’m getting old. There were lines at the corners of his eyes now, deeper when he smiled. Not quite crow’s feet, yet, but on their way there.

A playful prod from Yfandes. :You and your vanity. Stop it, love. You look fine:

He sighed, turned away, and flopped down on his bed, splaying out. :’Fandes, I am glad to be home:

:It has some upsides: She sent a flash through her own eyes, green fields and wildflowers, a trio of foals chasing her across Companions’ Field, their mothers standing fondly at a distance.

A reminder to send Jisa a message. He would be seeing her parents tomorrow first thing, the meeting was already scheduled, but it would mean a lot to her to receive a note on the good Palace stationary.

Who else? He ought to plan time to see Lissa, and–

:Oh: he sent. :I should send a note to Medren and Stefen as well. I could have them over for tea:

Stefen was presumably still training with Katha. I hope she’s kept him out of mischief. Or at least found a way to channel it into something useful. Either way, he found he was looking forward to hearing about the lad’s adventures. Stef was a born storyteller, who could make a description of paint drying sound captivating, and combining that with Medren’s soothing presence sounded like an excellent way to spend one of his first evenings back.

He wondered if Shavri had figured out how to duplicate Stef’s Gift. Another question to ask. So much he needed to catch up on…

Conversations to have, that hadn’t seemed so scary when they were off in the distant future. Damn it, what was he going to tell Randi?

Yfandes had been distracted – having a side conversation with the other mares, he thought – but she surged into his mind again. :We’ll figure it out: she assured him. A pause. :I think it’s an excellent idea to invite Medren over, but I just checked with Kellan, and unfortunately young Stefen is away:

:Away?: That didn’t make any sense.

:On his Journeyman circuit. He’s made full Bard status. Left a couple of weeks ago. Your dear mother hosted a going-away party for him. Kellan tells me that your sister got drunk and picked a fight with your father about Guard levies:

:Sounds like the usual: It was excellent news for Stef, to be promoted so young, but Vanyel was obscurely disappointed anyway. :’Fandes, don’t let me forget to send Mother and Father a note as well: Not that he wanted to see them yet, exactly, but Father would be offended and Mother would be hurt if he put it off.

:Ooh!: Delight in Yfandes mindvoice. :New gossip! Want to hear it?:

:I can hardly turn it down: he sent dryly.

:Katha had a babe! With Herald Tobin! It sounds like they might even get married, now:

He blinked. :She’s been busy: The order seemed a little backward.

Laughter in his head. :Guess what else?:

He rolled over onto his back. :I’m sure I’ll never guess, so you can go ahead and tell me:

:Keiran’s pregnant as well!:

:Isn’t she a little old for it?:

:Shavri helped her out. She’s only six weeks in, but it’s all going well so far: A pause. :Oh! That’s even juicier! Want to know who the father is?:

He sighed. :Who, ‘Fandes?:

:Bard Dellar:

Vanyel, despite himself, burst out laughing. :What, really? Are they together?:

:Not exactly, but they’ve been, well, fond of each other for years:

And he’d never heard a thing about it. Keiran didn’t tend to talk much about her personal life. :I wouldn’t have thought he was her type: Bards had a certain reputation.

:Wild and adventurous in bed, you mean?: Her mental chuckles joined his. :Something must have drawn her in, and it’s not his looks:

:’Fandes!: It was true that Dellar didn’t look like anyone’s conception of a Bard; Savil had said once, not unkindly, that he had a face like a lumpy potato.

Her only reply was a playful mental poke.

Vanyel laced his fingers together and stretched his palms out in front of him, examining the fading scars for the thousandth time. He had started spending time in trance on self-Healing as soon as he was able to concentrate; he had full sensation and range of motion in his fingers again. Playing the lute every night had done more good than any of An’dora’s exercises, and made Dara happy besides.

His memory was back as well, which was a huge relief. If only the same could be said for his Gifts. He still hadn’t brought it up with Savil, though surely Kellan had relayed something to her.

Oh. :’Fandes, I should book time with Melody: And tell someone about the herbs he was still taking; An’dora had sold them another six months’ worth at a steep discount.

A beat of silence. :Unfortunately, she isn’t here either:

:What?: Somehow he hadn’t even considered that he might get back and Melody would be elsewhere. She was a permanent fixture of Haven. Or maybe of his life more generally.

:She volunteered to go north: Yfandes clarified. :Not too long after you left. Shavri made sure they sent word to her that you were headed home, but she’ll need to wrap up her work there:

He really ought to get up and do something useful – start making notes for tomorrow’s meeting, maybe – but his eyelids were suddenly heavy.

:Take a nap: Yfandes urged. :I might. It’s been a long day:

He wondered how Dara was settling in. They had parted ways at the stables, and he wasn’t sure when he would see her again. It was strange. He had barely known her at all when they set out, and now she felt, not quite like family, but something in that direction.

:Don’t worry: Yfandes sent, clearly amused. :I’m sure she’ll invite herself over here in no time:

:Figure they’ll promote her to Whites?: She was only seventeen, but their journey ought to count for about four internship circuits. Which implied he had been her mentor, however much it had felt like the other way around sometimes.

:They’d be mad not to. Get some rest, Chosen:

It was late evening. Too late to put it off any longer.

Shavri stood outside Dara’s room, in the trainee wing. Dara didn’t know it yet, but she wasn’t going to be there much longer. Seventeen wasn’t so absurdly young for full Whites – it was the age Vanyel had graduated.

She let her knuckles fall against the wood.

“Coming!” A female voice, not Dara. Muted footsteps, and then the door swung open. “Heya – oh. Healer Shavri?”

“Kerrill, right?” Shavri tried to smile at the girl. “I was looking for Dara, is she–”

“I’m here!” Dara’s face, soon followed by the rest of Dara, popped out between two sheets that had been pinned to a frame around her bed.

The young woman seemed vaguely out of place in what was clearly a teenaged girls’ room. Her side was fairly neat, but there was a discarded shirt in the corner, and her cloak was flung haphazardly over the back of her chair. Kerrill’s side looked like a hurricane had struck her clothes-bin, and her desk was a mess of papers and books pinned down by empty teacups.

There was a pot on the windowsill with a slender green plant in it, sporting a total of about ten large, glossy leaves.

“You’re here for Need?” Dara said cheerfully. “I’ve got her right here.”

“Yes.” Shavri took a step forward, and then stopped, as Dara unfastened the sheath and belt around her waist and passed the blade over, hilt first.

:Healer Shavri: The voice that spoke into her mind was still dusty, but much sharper and clearer. :Wondered when you would show up. I’m choosing not to be offended that it took you most of a day:

Shavri’s fingers tightened around the hilt. :Dara was taking perfectly good care of you:

:I suppose: A mental snort of laughter. :Except when she locked me up in here for her debrief meeting. That was dreadfully rude:

Shavri laughed despite herself, partly to cover a surge of guilt – she had done that plenty of times, hells, she hadn’t kept Need with her at all during the day for the first few years. She hadn’t realized it would cut off Need’s senses entirely; that sounded awful.

:If you were going to butt in the whole time: she sent. :I don’t blame her. Anyway, I can fill you in now: She busied her hands strapping the sword-belt over her Healers’ robes. :And you’ve got some stories to share as well, I think? You weren’t nearly so chatty the last time we were together:

:I wasn’t asleep on purpose: A hint of sheepishness. :You brought me a good part of the way towards waking, actually. I must have had un-Gifted bearers for a very, very long time:

Shavri, on automatic, started to head for the door, and then stopped. Oh. Part of her didn’t want to bring it up at all, but she knew what the right choice was.

:Need?: she sent. :Now that you’re awake, well, we should actually discuss some things:

A mental sigh. :If it’s the ethics lecture, spare me that. Dara and I talked the subject to death while we were stuck in that godforsaken Tower:

:Not that: Though it was something she should have thought of. Good on Dara. She reached out with her mind, pulling the girl into a shared Mindspeech link. :Need, you weren’t a fully conscious person before, but it seems you are now. Do you think – is there any way you’d be willing to have us share you?:

Dara’s surprise, and pleasure, came clearly across the link. From Need, confusion.

:I mean: Shavri pressed on, :I can keep you with me, but I can’t go running off on a whim: Honestly, neither could Dara. Once she was promoted to Whites, she was going to be as busy as any of them. :In fact, we could pull in others. If you’re willing. How does that sound?:

A surprised pause. :Oh: Need sent finally, her mindvoice softer. :No one’s ever…asked me, before. I need a moment to think:

:That’s fine: Shavri sent. :While we’re on the topic, I do want to sit down and strategize a bit more on the best way to, um, work with you: She had been about to say ‘use you’, but that seemed offensive. :For one, apparently you’re a Healer as well? How come that never came up before?:

A dusty mental grunt. :I only give help that’s needed. Swordsmanship, magic, or Healing, but only where my bearer can’t already fend for themselves. You’re a better Healer than I’ll ever be:

That brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks – and disappointment as well, the rising hope that maybe Need could help Randi subsiding. She was still going to ask, of course, but it had been a long shot to begin with.

:Go on, you two: Dara sent. :I know you’ve got a lot of catching up to do:

It wasn’t until much later, in her quarters, that the part she should really have remembered right away caught up with her. Jisa was already asleep in her bedroom.

Shavri didn’t want to ask, but it would only fester in her mind, if she didn’t. She sat on her bed and carefully drew the sword from her sheath, laying her flat across her knees.

“Need?” she said.

:Hmm?:

Take a deep breath. “My daughter, Jisa. You came for her.” And that was a whole other question – how in the name of all the gods had Need known to direct Embra shena Liha'irden as far as k’Treva Vale, during the exact window of time that they had been visiting?

:Right. That: The vague sense of someone squirming. :I’m not sure how exactly I find my next bearer – or how I find the women in trouble – it’s just a feeling I get. A sort of tug. I think it must be a spell I set up once, when I…ended up in this form. Or maybe something the Twain granted me for my prayer. A kind of Foresight. I’m afraid I don’t remember the process:

It was remarkable that Need remembered anything at all. Where does she keep her mind? Her spirit was tied directly to a piece of metal, and Shavri hadn’t thought to question it that much before, when she thought of Need as just an impressive artifact, but it didn’t make any sense.

More than Foresight, she thought, Need’s tugs reminded her of whatever it was Companions had. Vanyel had tried to describe it to her, talking about Yfandes. It’s like there’s a part of her outside time, and she sees the shape of the future. Sometimes there are fragments of events, images, but usually it’s just a hunch, and she can’t explain it.

A microcosm of the way a god might see the world, Shavri remembered thinking. The Companions were a miracle, created by an unknown god or goddess – or gods and goddesses plural, the history books claimed that King Valdemar had been very thorough in his prayers. And Need’s origin was similar, albeit smaller-scale. An uncomfortable thought.

:Back to Jisa: Need sent, a little impatiently. :Something about her draws me. I can’t entirely say why, but – it feels like she’ll be at the heart of something important:

Shavri closed her eyes, shivering. “Need, that’s exactly what I don’t want for her! Trust me, being at the heart of something important usually just means a lot of your friends die.” And late nights, endless meetings, months and years sacrificed to a duty she had never asked for.

A dusty chuckle, without much humour. :I’m no sheltered maiden – I know how the tides of history work, Healer: A pause, and Shavri had the indefinable sense of someone squinting at her, disapproving. :Every mother wants safety and happiness for their child. What does your Jisa want for herself?:

Like a blow to the stomach. “She wants to be a hero,” Shavri said dully. “It would be a dream come true for her, to have a magic sword. But she’s too young to make that choice.”

:Twelve years old, no?: A scoff. :There are women married at that age:

Shavri shuddered. “Like that ever ends well. You’ve helped me rescue a few of them. Need, you’re right. I can’t choose Jisa’s life for her, and I can’t keep you captive either.” Words that, even now, hurt to say out loud, but less so. “Still, I would like you to please let her grow up first. She isn’t ready.”

:She may be readier than you think: A gusty mental sigh. :I won’t cross you on this, mama bear. I have a suspicion it would end badly:

Dara stood outside the back door to the House of Healing, fidgeting nervously with the leather envelope in her hands.

Somehow, in the rush of coming back to Haven, greeting her friends in the trainee wing and putting away her things, debriefing privately with the King and handing off Need to Shavri, she had entirely forgotten about her seeds.

She had a chava-plant seedling too, transported carefully wrapped in damp cloth at the top of her saddlebags, on top of several pounds of prepared beans. It sounded quite easy to grow, and it wasn’t really medicinal, so she felt weird asking the Healers for help with it. She had planted it in a pot in her room.

Hells, if she was the only one who had a chava plant, she could sell the beans it grew and make some money. Dara wasn’t sure if that was a very Heraldic thing to do, but it seemed sensible.

It felt odd to be in trainee greys again. They had given her Whites for her trip even though she wasn’t officially a full Herald yet, but it felt presumptuous to wear them here when her graduating wasn't official, and all the uniforms she had taken were unfit to wear in public.

The door opened. “…Trainee?” the man said, eyes playing over her face. “Oh. Dara! Please come in. What is it?”

He was redheaded, plump, and probably around fifty. “Andrel, right?” she said, reaching to grip his arm. “I, er, have something to show you.”

“Oh?”

She held up the envelope. “Something we found in Kata’shin’a’in. It’s a herb from Seejay–”

“Oh!” His green eyes lit. “This is the stuff Van mentioned?”

“He told you already?” They hadn’t even been back a full day.

“I saw him for an assessment earlier today. He said a Shin’a’in Healer gave it to him, and on reflection he ought to check it was safe. He didn’t mention you had seeds! I was already planning how we could send someone south for it–”

“So you think it’s valuable then?” Dara said hopefully. 'Earlier today' – trust Van never to sleep like a normal person, it wasn't that long past dawn.

“Of course! It’s made a world of difference for Van, apparently, even if I haven’t got the faintest idea how it works. Maybe Shavri can figure it out. Not that it matters, really.” He held out an eager hand. “Did you ask about growing conditions?”

Dara, for just a moment, considered asking if the House of Healing would pay her back for the ten gold daari she had spent on the stuff. No, that definitely wasn’t a Heraldic thing to do.

She set the envelope in his palm. “I have a bit of the dried stuff as well, aside from what I gave Van. And instructions. It grows where it’s really hot and wet…”