“I didn’t say that. I only said no one spoke of them. But the day before I left, I saw him. I saw Kaevin, and he talked to me.”
“You saw Kaevin BarGraely? Are you certain? Perhaps it only looked like him.”
“I was fetching water for the forger when I met him. He was tromping through the square and didn’t see me. My water spilled when he ran into me, and he helped me fill another bucket. I know it was Kaevin because he told me his name.”
“He lives.” Vindrake fumed, balling his hands into fists. How did he survive? How did the blade fail to end his life?
“May I see my brother now? I did everything you asked of me.”
“Not at the moment. Your grandfather awaits you. Be gone.” Vindrake gave an impatient wave toward the door.
“What about my horse?”
“Not now!” In his frustration, Vindrake almost struck the impertinent boy. But Markaeus must have sensed the danger, for he scrambled out the door without another word.
“Judaene!” Vindrake called for his personal guard, a swarthy young warrior with bulging muscles befitting his gift of strength. He rather preferred his previous guard, Daegreth, who’d been lost in the battle against Laegenshire. But Judaene performed his duties with relish, though he lacked Daegreth’s soothing mannerisms.
Fortunately, Vindrake never allowed himself to become emotionally attached to his guards or anyone else, for that matter. He’d learned many years ago sentimentality was a weakness to be avoided at all costs. Personal affection only offered opportunity for pain. No one could be trusted… especially family. His own father and brother had proven beyond doubt that familial love and loyalty were as much a myth as the city of Serenshire.
Vindrake stood unobserved in the doorway, watching his younger brother at sword practice against an imaginary opponent. He couldn’t help but admire his grace as he deftly maneuvered the blade, slicing through the air in elegant arcs. He’d grown taller in the year since Vindrake had left their home in Portshire. Taller and broader in the shoulders. With his beard filling out, he looked more like their father than ever before. His long auburn curls bounced with every vigorous dancing step. Vindrake had been told his own slick black hair had come from their mother, though he didn’t remember her.
“Drakeon!” Vindrake’s brother cried, as the heavy practice sword slipped from his hands, clunking to the floor. Arriving in four long strides, his brother fell against him, and Vindrake found himself engulfed in a fierce embrace. “You’re alive! I can’t believe you’re alive! Father scoured all of Water Clan looking for you. It’s been twelve moons. He told me yesterday he was going to give up the search. Where have you been?”
“Alleraen, I’ve missed you.” Vindrake clung to him, desperate to abate the cold emptiness that had been growing in his chest during his flight through Stone Clan. In the fortnight since his fatal encounter with the Faelen, an aching pain had developed inside his ribs, like a shard of ice beside his heart. He felt certain it was guilt over his actions. Indeed his remorse was so great, he’d been tempted on multiple occasions to climb a tree and leap to his death. He’d fought against the urge, convinced his father’s approval would offset the horrible shame and self-reproach. His father would never know the means by which he’d gained his newfound strength. And as long as Vindrake used his ill-gotten gift for the good of Water Clan, Faelen’s death would be a noble sacrifice, rather than an act of evil.
“But where did you go? And why did you stay away so long?” Alleraen pushed back, gripping Vindrake’s arms. “You’ve changed. What’s different?”
“I have the gift of strength now. That’s the change you sense. I’ve been studying the writings in the Craedenza…”
“You let Father worry for twelve moons so you could study some stupid scrolls? Are you senseless? Father will be furious when he finds out.”
“Did you hear what I said? I have the gift of strength. Now I’ll be ready when my time comes to be Water Clan leader.”
“But you didn’t need to be gifted in strength. I already have that gift, and I’m going to be your weapons master someday.”
“Be still, Alleraen! We both know you’d never be satisfied as weapons master. It was only a matter of time before you challenged me as leader.”
“That’s not true!” Alleraen’s mouth hung open. “I would never do such a thing. God chose you as Water Clan leader when you were born. Who am I to question His decision?”
“You’ve always thought you were better than me.” Vindrake felt his anger growing, warming the icy place in his chest. His rage felt good. It felt justified. “And Father loved you more, because you were gifted in strength and weapons.”
“Surely you don’t believe that, Drakeon. The fact that we spent time together because we shared the gift of strength didn’t make Father love me more than you. The whole time we practiced he told me I was preparing to be your weapons master when you were clan leader someday.”
“He does love you more.” Vindrake’s anger deflated and the frozen ache returned. “You didn’t see his expression when he realized my major gift was language rather than strength or weapons. He was so disappointed.” He turned his face away to hide the tears welling in his eyes.
“You were born to be clan leader, and you were given the gifts you needed to perform your task.” Alleraen spoke the words as if he believed them.
“Exactly! I was given a strong gift of language so I could do what no man has ever done before—interpret the Maladorn scroll. God knew I would be the one who learned how to obtain another major gift after coming of age.”
“I suppose you could be correct.” Alleraen screwed his lips to the side. “Will you gain more gifts? Will you have all the major gifts some day?”
“No!” Vindrake realized he’d shouted the word when his brother flinched. “I have strength now, and I need no other gifts. Father will be impressed—you’ll see.”
“Perhaps. Still, you disobeyed him and allowed him to worry for twelve moons. He could be more angry than impressed. I’d gladly help you concoct a tale to pacify him, but he keeps Barristae by his side all the time now.”
“Barristae? Why does Father keep the clan judge with him?” Vindrake knew he couldn’t tell his previously planned story in Barristae’s presence.
“Father believes someone stole you away by force, and he’s convinced some citizen of Portshire was complicit. He keeps Barristae with him, thinking they will stumble upon the culprit together.”