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“Yes, I am,” said Laura, trying to look stern but not quite managing to keep a smile off her face. “But no one is supposed to know yet, so keep your mouth shut.”
Heath’s mouth was indeed hanging open, and he closed it promptly. “That’s wonderful, Laura,” he said sincerely. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thank you,” she said, but her gaze was still calculating. “I’m more interested in knowing how you figured it out.” She suddenly looked excited. “Maybe it’s magic! Maybe you have Father’s ability, and can identify deception.”
“I don’t have Father’s ability,” said Heath firmly. But even as he said it, a connection formed in his mind, as though he was gaining a new layer of understanding regarding the origins of his own still unformed power. Now he thought about it, his ability to see things others couldn’t did have something of the flavor of his father’s power to see when something was being hidden.
“Hm,” was all Laura said, and she still looked very thoughtful as she turned away to accept her husband’s offered arm.
Heath walked behind them out of the throne room, struggling to comprehend her news. He would be an uncle soon. It cheered him to know that in the midst of all the stress and tension, something as fresh and happy as a new birth was coming to the family.
A moment later, he realized that Laura’s child represented the first of a new generation of power-wielders. Who knew what shape magic would take in the fourth generation? Would it weaken, or become more potent? Would it be a form that the rest of the kingdom found more or less threatening?
And, he thought grimly, how big a mess would his own generation leave for the next group of power-wielders to inherit?
* * *
The ceremony, while not exactly a festive occasion, was still followed by the obligatory spread of food. People milled through the castle’s large ballroom, not currently set up for dancing, discussing the cooler weather when the dull topic of the ceremony failed to occupy more than two minutes’ conversation.
Heath had no opportunity for private speech with Percival, which he told himself was for the best. He couldn’t say the things he wanted to in a ballroom, and it was probably better that he speak with his brother when the first flush of irritation had passed. He was both frustrated and uneasy to see that Percival didn’t mingle much. He seemed to be surrounded at all times by a block of their cousins. In fact, when he glanced around the room, Heath realized that virtually all the power-wielders were clumped together in small groups, both avoiding and being avoided by the rest of the luncheon’s attendees.
The exceptions were all in their parents’ generation. Heath’s parents, for example, were conversing with Princess Anne, the king’s sister, with their usual unruffled grace. But Heath wasn’t deceived. Underneath, they were almost as tense as he was. Knowing them as he did, he didn’t even need extra sight to identify it.
Heath twice stopped himself from joining his cousins, irritated by their self-imposed segregation, and determined not to contribute to it. But when he made to walk over to Prince Lachlan instead, he found himself reluctant to do that either. He had no idea what he would say to the crown prince about Percival’s disregard of the vow they had all agreed on after much debate. He couldn’t read Prince Lachlan well enough to know if he was angry at Heath, but he certainly hadn’t made any attempt to approach him.
Caught between two camps, Heath felt annoyed with both, but not so much that he wanted to see them destroy each other. It was maddening to watch them pull further apart, in spite of his efforts to bring them together. Efforts which, all things considered, had been pretty feeble. But what could he do? If he approached either group now, the other would cease to see him as an ally.
He sighed. What wouldn’t he give to have a friend here, a true friend who was outside of the conflict, and was genuinely there for his sake? His thoughts flew to Merletta, but it was a foolish thing to wish for. She was as far away from his world as she could be.
But Merletta wasn’t his only friend. She certainly hadn’t been his first. All at once, an ache for his estranged friend rushed over him. Without thinking about it, Heath placed his goblet on a nearby table and slipped out into the corridor. He hurried for a door not far from the ballroom, leading into a public garden. A lonely hilltop would be preferable, but it wasn’t necessary, and he didn’t have the time.
Once he was alone next to a bed of late-blooming roses, he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, allowing the perfumed air to soothe his agitation.
“Reka,” he said, without opening his eyes. “Please talk to me. I’m alone here, and I need a friend.”
At once, the dragon appeared before his sight, and he was surprised to see that Reka was underwater. The dragon cocked a head to the side, clearly listening to Heath’s plea. Rekavidur propelled himself upward, breaking the surface of the water and floating on top of it like a duck on a pond. In the background, Heath thought he could see the rocky slopes of Wyvern Islands protruding from the ocean.
He focused his attention back on the dragon, and realized there was something in Reka’s mouth. It gave a sudden, ferocious wriggle, and Heath recognized it as a live salmon. Reka flicked his jaw in a strange, complicated movement, and the salmon slid, whole and still wriggling, straight down his throat with a gulp that Heath could actually hear through the magic connection.
“That was…disgusting,” he said aloud, unable to help himself.
Reka stilled, an arrested expression on his face. “What does that mean?” he asked quietly. The question was clearly about Heath rather than directed at him, but Heath’s heart still lifted at the sound of the familiar, gravelly voice.
“It means I can see you,” he said matter-of-factly. “I can hear you, too, it seems. There’s a lot I haven’t told you. I’d apologize, except you haven’t really given me the option of telling you anything, have you?”
Reka had frozen at Heath’s words, and he remained unmoving for so long that he seemed like a statue, albeit one that was bobbing impossibly on the choppy surface of the ocean.
“I could really use your help figuring some of it out, incidentally,” Heath said. “And I think you have some things you need to tell me.”
At that, the mask descended again on Rekavidur’s face, and he closed his jaws with a snap.
“Come on, you stubborn reptile,” pleaded Heath. “This is me we’re talking about. Surely whatever it is, you can tell me.”
It was hard to be sure, but he thought that Reka wavered. Unfortunately, before he could press his advantage, a voice cut across his long-distance conversation.
“Lord Heath? What are you doing out here? Who are you talking to?”
Heath spun around, his heart sinking at the sight of Lord Niel, the king’s Chief Counselor. The man was as interfering as they came, and his was one of the loudest voices pushing for restrictions to be placed on power-wielders.
