expression of confusion matched hers. “You came to me in a vision. You helped me escape the effects of Falconer’s drugged wine.”
Dari shook her head. “I couldn’t have mustered that kind of concentration last night. I couldn’t even manage my own energy, much less lend any to you.”
“It was you, Dari.” Aron put his hand over hers. “My graal knew the image wasn’t a lie. The bullroot, the paralyzing herbs—you lent me your energy to overcome it. I thought you transferred too much to me and did damage to yourself.”
Dari shook her head again and withdrew from his touch. “I didn’t.”
“You don’t have to protect me,” Aron said. “No one could consider this a proper trial.”
“It was a proper trial. It was—it was a terrible trial.” Lord Baldric rubbed a hand across his wide face, and the emotion Nic saw was not anger or fear or anything close to it. It was grief. For his guild. For his way of life. “Lord Ross was right, Aron. No one should have faced something like that alone. I’m sorry for what you endured, and you are most certainly finished with any need to prove yourself to Stone.”
Aron’s shoulders sagged again, and he looked at Stormbreaker. “I didn’t make it through last night on my own power. I required saving, first by a lunatic, and then by a vision. I can’t wear the robes.”
“You’ve earned them, and you’ll wear them, and before you leave these grounds, you’ll draw your first stone.” Lord Baldric’s voice broke, and his shoulders drooped as much as Aron’s. To Nic, he suddenly had the appearance of an old man, overwhelmed by the sadness in his heart.
“One day when you return,” Lord Baldric continued, speaking more quietly, “it’ll be with your first kill behind you. You’ll see that you belong here, Aron. You’re a Stone of Stone, and I regret anything I might have said or done in these many cycles to make you believe otherwise.”
The silence around the table was worse than any storm Nic had ever endured.
One day when you return...
Nic looked from Aron to Dari to Stormbreaker, then at both dynast lords. Everyone seemed weighted now, especially as Aron worked out the Lord Provost’s words for himself.
“I’m… to leave, then?” he murmured, studying the backs of his hands.
“We’re all leaving.” Stormbreaker didn’t bother to disguise the unhappiness in his voice, and for once, his emotions were etched across his pale, marked face. “Lord Ross and Dari and you, too, Nic. Snakekiller is readying our party for the road. Our departure must be very public, after we’ve made certain the countryside will be well aware of who is leaving, and that word will spread to the advancing armies.”
His green eyes moved to Nic. “Everyone will need to know who we are, and where we’re going, and what we intend to do. You were searching for the right way to announce yourself. I believe the opportunity is at hand. Perhaps we should have some formal ceremony for you, acknowledging your identity, and vesting you as Dyn Mab’s new lord and heir.”
Nic couldn’t bring himself to respond. He couldn’t imagine that spectacle, though he had to admit it would spread across the nearby lands with the speed of wildfire. The part about leaving, though, about taking a well-publicized traveling party full of nobles out of Triune with nothing but a few guild members and the private Guard of Lord Cobb and Lord Ross—that sounded like mass suicide. “We can’t just walk out of Triune’s gates and take on three marauding dynast armies.” He swallowed. “Can we?”
Lord Ross’s confident voice soothed Nic’s nerves when he explained, “My Sabor allies will escort us out of Dyn Brailing. We’ll travel for a day or two to make certain word of our direction spreads; then the Sabor will fly us directly to the heart of the combined Ross and Cobb Guard massing just above my border. It’s the most safety Westin and I can offer you and Aron for now—and Dari as well, if she won’t return to the Stregans.”
“I won’t,” Dari said.
For a time, no one spoke, and Nic assumed they were giving Aron the courtesy of time to digest the blow he had just absorbed. When Aron did manage to form his next question, his voice sounded thin and exhausted, and he asked it of Lord Ross.
“Will this save Triune?”
“I don’t know,” came Lord Ross’s honest response, and once more Nic admired the man’s powerful delivery. “We suspect our party will