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  Mags snorted. How could his grandfather ever have expected otherwise? Knowing his father was Gifted and still expecting him to be an assassin was worse than ridiculous, it was insanity. What they should have done was to—make him a scholar or something. Although, you never knew, for all Mags knew, the mere proximity to all those other cold-blooded killers might have been eating away at his soul, too.

  : They were heading for Valdemar, obviously.: Dallen pointed out. :He must have been talking to anyone he could, searching every record he could find, to locate a place where his father wouldn’t be able to touch him—or you. You saw for yourself what happened to the Sleepgivers that tried using their powers in our borders. Madness. The talismans turning on them.:

  That certainly made Valdemar a logical place to flee to. Mags even had to wonder if they hadn’t just been so desperate that they ran on a mere rumor. “There’s a place in the north where it’s said magic doesn’t work. We’ll be safe forever there!” He could see two lovestruck people striking out in that way. After all, that was what made romantic tragedy.

  :And it was quite a feat of legerdemain, because the pair that was staying undertook to impersonate the pair that was fleeing. Your parents stole a talisman for Meric and took both girls’ jewelry—quite a lot of it—and fled. Bey’s parents managed, by moving around the palace and changing clothing a lot, to hide the fact that they were gone for three days, giving them a good head start.:

  Now Mags understood some of the things he’d seen when drugged. The young couple on the run, the birth of the baby—which was him.

  :I’m not sure how you managed to see those things, Mags. I’m not sure if they’re real, or someone’s—Levor or Kan-li’s—ideas of what happened. I’d be more inclined to think the latter.: That wouldn’t have been in that storybook, of course, nor the cruder versions which the young second-rank Sleepgivers would have seen. No one would have known what had happened to the pair. But Dallen thought that Levor and Kan-li had good enough imaginations to patch something into their own memories, since they knew about Mags.

  Mags agreed. There had been a sort of vague blurriness about those sequences that made them stand out from some of the others. And since his own Mind-magic had been coming back at the time he took the drugs, he could easily have picked that up from the two Sleepgivers.

  :And there the tale ends. Bey’s parents would have been in a lot more trouble if the Shadao hadn’t been trying to find his fleeing son. And when it was obvious that your parents had escaped successfully, the Shadao was too overcome with grief at losing his eldest to punish them. And then, right when the grief faded and the anger began, Bey’s mother was pregnant, thus giving the Shadao the heir he desperately desired.: Dallen sighed. :I will say this, Bey’s father has a fine sense of the melodramatic. According to Bey’s recollection, he made quite a production out of his attempt at placating his father. He went to the Shadao and offered to kill himself in reparation. He got as far as slicing a wrist when the old man forgave him. He became such a model Sleepgiver that the old man completely relented and bequeathed the title of Shadao on him at his own death.:

  “You know, Bey, all this sounds like a bad play,” Mags said aloud. “Lovers fleeing, twins impersonating each other, and capping it all off with an attempted suicide and a reconciliation . . . it smacks of being awfully contrived.”

  Bey opened his eyes, and smiled slightly. “That is because there was a great deal more machination, politics, and secret maneuvering on the part of my father, the Shadao, in order to restore himself to the good graces of his father.” Bey even chuckled. “He set things up perfectly, and my grandfather was very fond of drama. He knew it for the tool that it was.”

  “Sounds like a clever old goat,” Mags responded, dryly.

  “As for the entire melodrama with your parents and mine . . . knowing my father and my mother, I believe that he only went along with the charade to please her and in hopes of winning her love at last.”

  “Oh?” Mags gestured to him to continue. Bey seemed happy enough to oblige.

  “My father is a hard man, a very hard man. But your father was not the only one who fell in love—inappropriately. He was not at all pleased with the twin that shrank from him. Frankly, he thought her weak-willed and preferred her sister. So from his perspective, the switch in spouses was ideal. My mother, at first was not enamored of either son and yielded to her beloved sister’s pleas that they secretly exchange on the eve of their marriage in order to make her happy.”

  “Well, that starts to make a lot of sense,” Mags said thoughtfully. “One of the Gifts—what you call Blessings—that they had was something that our Healers generally have. That Blessing makes it hard for Healers to really want to be with a spouse that doesn’t want it too.”

  “Oh? Interesting. This explains a great deal.” Bey brooded a bit. “Well, as to my mother, she was contented enough to have a husband who was good to her and the position of the heir’s wife. Indeed, I sometimes wonder if she didn’t conspire with her sister’s flight in order to have that position for herself. Only after, indeed, only after she was with child, did she come to adore her husband as he adored her. So in the end, perhaps, the gods spoke. Who can tell?”

  “Well, what about how your father scraped out?” Mags persisted.

  “He was always the political one. He had made important allies, he had taken very important commissions—in fact one of those was one your father was supposed to have taken, and he—again!—took your father’s place. And the Shadao was fond of extravagant gestures. The spilling of blood on the Council table appealed to him. The stains are still there,” Bey ended, thoughtfully. Then turned a bit green. “Your Blessing does not agree with me, my cousin. I shall withdraw—”

  “No.” Mags got up, and went to Bey, offering him a hand. When Bey took it, he helped the other young man to his feet, and guided him to the bed. “You lie down there a bit. I’m gonna talk to Dallen. We aren’t going to have much more time, I doubt this blizzard has another day in it, and then my friends are going to come looking for me. We have to settle this today. I’ll get you some tea.”

  He took all the knives with him, of course. No point in leaving extra weapons where Bey could get to them. But then he made some of that tea that Bear had given him so long ago, when his Gift started giving him problems, and brought it over to the Sleepgiver. Bey accepted it, made a face over the taste, but drank it down.

  “Ehu. That is better. Let me steady my head for a little.” Bey lay flat on the blankets, his gaze fixed on Mags.

  “Why are you here, really, Bey?” Mags asked. “Not the answer you gave me. Your own reason.”

  Bey pondered that for a moment. “Choice. And family. You were given the Ancient Memories potion, and yet, here you are, still persisting in remaining. I want to know why you are making this choice. You’re my blood, and blood should be calling to blood so strongly you will not be able to resist. That’s the main reason. I told you the other, it’s partly selfish. It will be much easier to reign with you at my side. The Shadao, my father, is sickly and will probably die within a year, and if I brought you back to him, even though you are the elder, he would not hesitate to give me the throne. I want someone at my side I can trust, someone who understands my vision of bringing honor back to the Sleepgivers. And here is cold, hard truth. When you come back with me, you will know no one in the House. You will depend on, and be loyal, to me. I need not fear you are machinating plans behind my back. I will be able to trust you, you will be able to trust me because of your Blessing. Because of your Blessing, I will be able to know, without doubt, who is my friend and who is my foe and who is vacillating and how to push them. And I will have the strong arm at my side and the brother at my back to ensure no one can come against me.”

  He took a long, shuddering breath, and put one hand on his stomach, as if to comfort it.

  That was a very long speech for someone with a queasy stomach. Mags let him wait for it to settle. “That’s not go
ing to happen,” he said, a little sadly.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure. Haven’t you longed all your life for a family?” Bey smiled a little, as he saw that hit home. “Well, what did you have in mind for the settling of our . . . conundrum?”

  “I have in mind that we stop going through a third party,” Mags said, not betraying any of his uncertainty. “I want you to open your mind completely to me, and I’ll open mine to you.”

  “This may be more dangerous to you than it is to me,” Bey warned him, his eyes going bright with eagerness, his nausea forgotten.

  “We’ll see,” said Mags. “We’ll see.”

  • • •

  They sat facing each other, cross-legged, knees touching. Bey had brought with him the herbs for the Ancient Memories potion; he seemed sure that it would open his mind completely to Mags. Mags elected to forgo the potion, Bey didn’t seem to mind. He drank the nasty stuff down with a smile; when he lost the smile, and his eyes seemed to fog over, Mags knew that the time had come.

  He reached for Bey’s mind; the Sleepgiver’s few protections fell away like shreds of wet paper. Then, he was in . . . and he opened himself to Bey.

  Under the influence of the drugs, Bey could not have held secrets from Mags if he’d been a practiced Mindspeaker, which, of course, he wasn’t. Dallen had been right. Everything Bey had told him was true. Of course there were many things Bey hadn’t told him. That Bey was a true scion of his father, as ruthless a politician, and as adept at plot and counterplot. That Bey intended to put Mags on something of a pedestal once he had gotten the title of Shadao, showing off the Blessed One to a very select audience, the living proof that the gods favored him. And that he intended to keep Mags on that pedestal, regardless of what Mags wanted. But he really did intend the best for Mags, and being at Bey’s side would be . . . a rather luxurious life. Bey was never going to do what had been done to his uncle, Mags’ father. Bey was never, ever, going to tell him to kill, and he was going to do his best to shelter Mags from that part of the Sleepgivers’ lives.

  And Bey meant every word about wanting to restore honor to the Sleepgivers. He intended to use Mags’ Gifts to make that possible. It was a very reasonable idea, and probably would work, and work very well. Mags could covertly implant Bey’s ideas in anyone who didn’t possess a talisman against Mind-magic; he could easily manipulate people to Bey’s way of thinking, if he chose.

  And although it would be violating the ethics he had been taught as a Herald . . . how much good would he be doing?

  Quite a lot.

  But it would be violating the ethics he had been taught as a Herald. . . .

  And so he opened his mind to Bey’s, and flooded him with everything it meant to be Chosen, and a Valdemaran, the good right along with the bad. The incredible bond he shared with Dallen—how it meant that he had someone with whom he had a deeper bond even than family. His love for Amily, how here you could find someone who was your friend, your lover, your partner, and your equal. What it meant to be a Herald; how you were never weak, because there was always someone strong to prop you, as you would prop someone weaker than you. How it felt to make peoples’ lives better, every day, even when they didn’t know you were doing it. How, in the end, blood was unimportant; it was the bond of brothers and sisters of the spirit that made you more whole than mere relations ever could. At the last, he stopped showing, stopped telling, stopped even images. He just was, and flooded Bey with the deep and certain joy of that simple being.

  Then he opened his eyes. A moment later, Bey opened his. And sighed.

  “You win, cousin,” he said, a little sadly. “You win.”

  15

  Mags unearthed the talisman and gave it back to Bey, who put it on. They clasped arms in the manner of the Sleepgivers, and Mags felt a deep pang of sorrow. Not at what he was giving up—but at what Bey was losing.

  “Put on that talisman when you decide to ‘die.’” Bey told him. “It will take about a day to come to life. No one will be able to find you while you wear it.”

  “What about you?” Mags asked a little anxiously. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “I will manage.” Bey grinned crookedly. “As you saw, I am a schemer. I can always manage. I will not be put off by a little setback from achieving my goal.”

  And then he was gone. And not long after he left, the blizzard blew itself out. Mags broke out of the cave and slogged his way to where his friends were waiting, only now being told of what had happened by Dallen and Jermayan.

  And that was when the real storm began.

  • • •

  “I don’t know whether I think you’re insane, or just incredibly stupid,” Jakyr said, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Or both. What in the hell were you thinking, trusting that man?”

  “Dallen said it was worth it. So did Jermayan. Just ask him,” Mags said wearily. The recriminations had gone on all day and well into the evening. Eventually Amily had come over to his side, but no one else had. Bear had railed at him until he was hoarse, and then he stamped off into the caravan, taking Lena with him. Lita had called him every variation on stupid and reckless that her inventive mind could come up with, and she was a Bard, so she came up with quite a lot. Jakyr had just hammered at him for candlemarks, until he felt just about as miserable as he had felt good as Bey left.

  “What gave you the right to risk all of us?” Jakyr asked again. “Risk your own life with a member of a known assassin tribe, fine; you can do whatever stupid thing you want with your own life. But you were risking all of us! What if he’d come over here and began picking us off one by one? What if he’d taken us hostage? Or killed all of us and taken Amily?” The cavern echoed as he shouted.

  “Dallen and Jermayan said if he made one false move, they’d take him down,” Mags repeated wearily. “If you can’t trust your Companion, who can you trust?”

  “Right at the moment, I’m not sure I can trust anyone!” Jakyr shouted, and glared down at Mags. “And that’s a pretty fine pass for a Herald to come to!”

  Mags could not have agreed with him more. He was absolutely miserable. He’d have been even more miserable if it hadn’t been for Dallen quietly supporting him—literally standing next to where he was sitting—on one side, and Amily on the other.

  “You keep telling him to trust his instincts, Jakyr,” she finally said. “And now you’re telling him his instincts, and Dallen’s, and Jermayan’s can’t be trusted.”

  Jakyr glared at her, and so did Lita. “You are neither Herald nor Trainee, Amily,” he said coldly. “I suggest you stay out of this. Being besotted is no excuse for being a fool.”

  “I am my father’s daughter, Jakyr,” she replied stiffly, looking him right back squarely in the eyes. “Never forget that.”

  If Jakyr’s glare had been a storm, Amily would have been a statue of ice at that moment. But she held up under it, raising her chin and never dropping her gaze. “I have been among Heralds all my life. I have assisted my father. I have watched him train Mags. I watched him train you. If this were Mags’ judgment alone you doubted, I would agree. But it wasn’t, and by his account it was Dallen and Jermayan who persuaded him to do this, not the other way around. And besides that,” she persisted, “he participated in a full mind-share with this Bey person. You know no one can lie in a full mind-share!”

  “This is some foreign murderer with talismans and magic we don’t understand!” Jakyr exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “I don’t know anything anymore! For all I know, he was able to somehow enthrall the Companions as well!”

  Dallen gave such a snort of disgust that he left a wet spot on the shoulder of Mags’ tunic—and to underscore how he felt, he deliberately turned his hindquarters to Jakyr.

  The message could not have been plainer. With a wordless growl, Jakyr stalked off toward the front of the cave. “I’m going to shovel snow!” he snarled. “At least I can count on one thing doing what it’s supposed to around here!”

  Lit
a followed, pausing only long enough to call back over her shoulder, “This isn’t over, young man.”

  • • •

  Jakyr and Lita returned, tired, snow-caked, and still angry with Mags.

  By this point, Mags was exhausted and nearly beside himself. :What do I do?: he wailed inwardly to Dallen. :It’s not like I can take it all back!:

  :Leave them alone,: Dallen advised. :Sooner or later it will dawn on them that no one is dead, no one is drugged, or possessed by an evil spirit, or otherwise compromised. Or else Jermayan and I will finally get through to Rolan, and Rolan will—well, I am not sure what he will do, but he’ll do something.:

  And until then, it seemed, Mags was just going to have to put up with being treated like the clodhopper who tracked stable muck into the Healers’ room. During a plague.

  Amily went off to the entrance, probably to get away from all the hostility. Mags didn’t blame her. But he wasn’t going to back down on this, and the only way to make that plain was to stay there and take it. Jakyr and Lita finished eating, skewering Mags with accusing glares the entire time. They got up—

  And that was when Amily screamed from the front of the cave.

  Mags had no idea how he got from the rug to the entrance in what seemed to have been a single leap. He only knew that at one moment, he was standing, hangdog, waiting for another tirade to erupt, and the next he was pulling Amily away from the opening, away from the huge spear that was quivering in the snow not more than a couple of arm lengths away from where she had been standing, looking out.