“Thank you for coming, Bastion,” King Torvald said.The words came out tired, and his brows crinkled, as if he wanted to apologize.“The council would like to hear about your Trial.Please, tell us what happened.”
Bastion maintained his grip on his sword.From the corner of his eye, he saw Lyanthis’s gaze fall to the hilt.
“Nothing, Your Majesty,” Bastion answered.“Two weeks passed, and I saw nothing and no one.When I returned toThe Gillyflower, Prince Endre informed me that they had only been waiting three days.”
“What of your Godmark?”Hanniel asked, ever direct.
Bastion shook his head.“I am unmarked.”
Saying that out loud felt like condemning himself, especially when whispers began to ripple through the room.A collective inhale punctuated the silence that followed.
“What did you do during your two weeks?”Lord Edward asked.He oversaw Etruria’s infantry and worked closely with Hanniel when he was in residence at the palace.
“I explored.I made camp.I hunted,” Bastion answered.He kept his tone matter-of-fact despite the nerves rattling through him like gamblers’ dice.“When lost in the wilderness, getting a sense of the terrain is vital, especially since I didn’t know what I would encounter.Shelter and food were also essential, since every Account differs in how long a prospective knight is on the island.”
Every question that followed felt like a stone thrown.
What did he find on the island?Ruins nearly swallowed by vegetation, deer trails, and a few old campsites.
Did he keep to one camp or did he move?He traversed the terrain to understand his surroundings and be prepared.
Did he see anything unusual?
The imp traipsed through his mind.Bastion didn’t know if keeping his mouth shut was better than letting them think he was mad.Madness was an accepted outcome of a Trial, but without a Godmark he wasn’t sure it was worth the risk.
“And where is your Account?”Lyanthis asked.
A sudden sweat rolled down Bastion’s spine.He’d completely forgotten that Ulla still had it.“I will–,” Bastion groped for words, “have to retrieve it.”
The Yvri’s mouth and brow flattened, sharpening his features into greater severity.“Why didn’t you bring it?”
Bastion matched Lyanthis’s expression.“I did not know why I was being summoned.”
King Torvald interjected.“The Account can wait.Continue.”
Lyanthis bristled, but didn’t push.The questions went on and on.The persistent onslaught wore him out.He felt like a clam being pried open.
Finally, when his back began to ache and his feet started to complain, a question surprised him.
“Did you pray?”came a craggy voice.Beside Lyanthis, a wizened man regarded Bastion through a beard and shaggy eyebrows that were more curtain than facial hair.He slouched with age, but his knobby hands gripped a staff with deceptive strength.
Darach.A priest of the Three Sisters.
“In the beginning, yes,” Bastion said.
“Only in the beginning?”Darach asked, lifting one eyebrow.
“I found my own strength to be a better friend than my faith,” Bastion answered.“If I’ve learned anything from this experience, it’s that the gods are fickle.”
“How so?”Lord Kyrith’s question boomed against the vaulted ceiling.
Bastion paused to weigh his response.Many of these men had deep faith in their respective gods.He wasn’t sure his newfound cynicism towards the divine would be received well.
“We call on them, and they answer in their own time.Their own way, if at all.I have called, and they have not answered.”
Someone scoffed and said, “There’s your answer.He’s faithless.”
“Is he?”Lawrence challenged.“He has prayed, he has acted in faith through the years of his training.We’ve all questioned silence from a deity, have we not?”
