“Wolfe,” Kalynn sat straight up.
“Eh?” he asked.
“They are tied to her, aren’t they?” Kalynn asked. “She locked them away and—”
Wolfe was already staring at the wall. “Yes,” he said distantly.
“I don’t trust her,” Kalynn said, hardening her heart to face the truth about her sister. “I think she would rather see them locked away forever. And with her health…” she let her voice trail off.
“If she were to die, the airions will be locked away forever.” Wolfe shook off the blanket and rose. “If Xyson had only known,” he said.
“Not even Seers have hindsight, Beloved.” Kalynn rose to stand next to him. “Can you replace the spell?”
“No,” Wolfe shook his head, his bushy white eyebrows beetled together. “That requires far more power than I dare use. No,” He walked forward, and placed his hand on the wall. “But I can add to it. Bend it a bit.”
He started to mutter under his breath, pressing his hand flat to the wall. Kalynn settled down, waiting quietly.
“There.” Wolfe took a deep breath, and returned to her side. “I linked it to the crystal Sword and the Royal Signet Ring. Any with the ability to use magic, who wield the sword and the ring can issue the call.” Wolfe shrugged at her questioning look. “I thought that any who would wield all three would have the best interests of Xy at heart.” He took Kalynn’s mug and drank. “Wouldn’t old Xyson laugh at that.”
“You have enough power left?”
Wolfe nodded. “We’ll fly out at dawn.”
Kalynn draped the blanket back over both of them. “I still grieve,” she said. “She is old and crippled, and it will get worse for her from here.” She pressed her hand to Wolfe’s heart. “But no regrets.”
Wolfe pressed his own warm hand on her cold fingers. “No regrets.”
They sat in silence for a moment, then Wolfe turned his head slightly. “So,” he said as he waggled his eyebrows. “Perhaps we should balance each other’s elements this night?”
Kalynn laughed.
Chapter Sixty-Two
They gathered at sunset, on the First Night of the Festival of Light and Laughter.
Warna stood next to Verice as the staff, guests and guards clustered at the base of the stairs leading to the main doors of the keep. She breathed a nervous prayer to the Lord and Lady that all would go as planned.
She and Verice were dressed in simple white tunic and trous, as were about a dozen others. The others were all wearing mourning colors, somber, plain clothing. The crowd was thick, made up of people who had been present at the attack, or who had lost loved ones as a result.
Priest Dorne stood at the top of the steps, a small metal bowl in one hand, a wooden striker in the other. He stood, watching the sky as the crowd swelled, greeting each other and talking quietly.
Warna leaned in to Verice, letting her fingers entwine with his. He didn’t look down, but squeezed her fingers tightly. She could feel the tension in his body, his back stiff and straight.
Finally, a guard on the far west wall lifted his hand and signaled that the sun was below the horizon.
Dorne lifted the bowl, and struck it once. The bowl rang with a pure sweet tone, calling all who heard it to silence. The tone hovered in the air, throbbing like a heartbeat, then faded away, slow and steady. Warna strained to listen, not sure when the sound stopped, leaving only silence in the courtyard.
“This night is the First Night of the Festival of Light and Laughter. With these seven nights and days we celebrate all the gifts that the Lord and Lady have given us.”
Verice tightened his grip on Warna’s hand.
“The first gift of the Lord was life, and the first gift of the Lady was death,” Dorne said.
“And this night is sacred to the remembrance of all those that have gone from our midst.” Dorne’s voice rang out in the silence, echoing against the stones of the courtyard and walls. “Let us grieve for our loss, and honor their memories.”
He struck the singing bowl again, but this time, the sound was joined by one mael’s voice, catching the tune, and extended it into a song of loss.
Charrin stood off to the side, clad in white robes, embroidered with gold and green. His song floated above them, joined with soft sobs and whispered prayers from the crowd. Warna’s tears welled, her throat closing, not only for their grief but for her own, for her own family.
