Page 24 of Keeper of the Word

Stars almighty.

Tolvar stepped over the hedge that separated them and stood next to her. She kept her eyes above them and began to tread toward the outer wall that eclipsed them in shadow.

“I sense you do not pray to the stars, Sir Tolvar.”

Tolvar swallowed his notion to curse. “Nay, Lady Kyrie. I do not find use in praying.”

“And yet you found the use of Aura Hall’s Priva this eve.”

A growl rumbled out of Tolvar. He should have known he’d be spied on at all times here. “I was not praying, m’lady.”

“Aye.” Kyrie faced him. “You grieve. You do not need to be a StarSeer to know that. For whom?”

Her eyes were unblinking. Fervent.

Four more days.

“Many people, in truth,” Tolvar said, taking a sidestep from her. They continued their stroll.

“Little Maristel does not know it—she is far too young—but she grieves as well. Her parents died of the Cors fever.”

“I was unaware the Cors fever was currently in these parts.”

“’Tis not. Maristel is from Grenden.”

Tolvar nodded, glad to hear the plague was far from here. He noted that he’d have to be careful with Grendenian merchants.

“Grief is quite a weight to carry. Even when we think we may surface from under its grip, it drowns us anew.”

Tolvar had a suspicion that Maristel was not the only StarSeer who grieved. Kyrie’s hand touched his forearm.

“You will be a believer before this is all through, Sir Tolvar. Elanna has Seen it. And last night, I Saw something in you as well.”

Tolvar’s face heated. He did not like these women speaking to him like a tale’s character.

“Where is Elanna? She spoke of…” Tolvar glanced at Kyrie’s hand on his arm. He prickled in irritation; he did want to involve himself. “Doom. She is adamant about the visions she has foreSeen, though she did not share much with me.”

Because you did not allow her.

“She requested you to take her to Asalle.”

Tolvar gritted his teeth before answering. “Aye.”

“And you did not take her?”

He studied Kyrie, who scrutinized him in return. “You commanded me to bring her here.”

“Hmm,” Kyrie muttered and continued walking.

Neither spoke for a time. Kyrie’s eyes never moved from the sky, though she had no trouble following Tolvar’s steps. She stepped over rocks and roots without shuffling her feet. The garden seemed to close in around them as they drew nearer to the outer wall. There were fewer torches here, and the flowers were painted darker grey and black.

It occurred to Tolvar that no sentinels were posted along the battlements of the wall. It was utterly deserted.

“The stars forewarn us when we require added protection on the walls,” Kyrie said softly, breaking the quiet. “StarSeers need comfort in their vigil of the stars.” Through an arched trellis, they came to a square patch of grass surrounded by a tall hedge. “Ah, this is my place this eve.” Kyrie released Tolvar’s forearm, the absence of her touch palpable, and knelt on the grass. She did not instruct Tolvar, but curled her fingers together in a knot, extended her arms in front of her, and lifted her gaze. She may as well have turned to stone for as still as she became.

Tolvar stood in the archway, observing. By and by, his toes and fingers warmed. He flexed his fists, the warmth giving way to a tingling sensation.

He did not know how long he stood there, but as the time grew, so, too, did his sense of protectiveness of Kyrie. His knight’s training took over, and the lightest flutter of wind and tiniest chirp of an insect was detected.