Page 40 of Keeper of the Word

Walking here to this field outside the town’s main gates, rather than being carried as Tolvar had all but insisted, helped to remind her of her strength. The fresh night air caressed her cheeks. Her head had stopped aching, and even though her throat still stung, it didn’t twinge quite as much. The image of it, though. She should have known better than to request a looking glass. Her neck was a black and blue, blotched mess. She’d tucked her hair in front of her, attempting to hide it, although it was already dark as they trod through the streets.

She’d instructed Hux, Tolvar, and his knights to keep their distance. Tolvar had said nay to that before she’d explained they could stand close enough to still see her clearly. He’d stubbornly agreed. But her time with the stars was for them alone, and she would not be limited by the proximity to others, especially nonbelievers.

Her breaths were deep and even. Her eyes fixed on the glitter of stars cascading over her.

Elanna. Daughter of Light.

There would be no asking why the stars had not warned her. Mayhap they’d attempted to last night, but the storm had impeded them. She couldn’t question what was. StarSeers focused on the future.

As her headache subsided, she had strained to recall the brief blink of vision she had Seen last night. ’Twas a vision buried deep within the recesses of her StarSeer’s memory. For as the stars shared fortunes with the Five, there were instances when what they Saw was too much or too fleeting to grasp. Those visions sometimes seethed for days, fortnights, even many moons until somewhere they surfaced and provoked the StarSeer’s recollection, yet usually only leaving mere clues. Last night, Elanna had Seen a past vision. One that could be years old.

“Stars neither new nor old. Give me again the light that has grown cold.”

She waited. Both for the stars’ answer and to grow tired. StarSeers were meant to receive, not to ask. To ask meant to accept fatigue. And sometimes, that fatigue meant a weariness beyond exhaustion. She could not describe it. No StarSeer could.

She waited. The stars glowed.

Daughter of Light, ’tis still kept within you.

Search you instead for the path that is true.

There are threats unforeSeen to tempt those with wounds.

Stray not from the path or accept certain doom.

The blinding light overhead dimmed, and Elanna wheezed out a gasp. She sank to her elbows.

“Lady Elanna!” Tolvar rushed to her, followed by the others.

Some other words were said, but she couldn’t make them out over her panting. Finally, lids half-closed, she gazed up at the knights.

“Now you may carry me, Sir Tolvar.”

Chapter

Sixteen

TOLVAR

The Wolf preferred to travel with a much smaller band than they did now. Even in his glory days five years ago, when he had competed in the thirteen tournaments throughout Lenfore to celebrate the victory of the War of a Hundred Nights, his band was never so large. The only other time he had traveled with a group so large was back in Deogol with Sloane and the Ravyns.

“We look like a band of minstrels,” he’d commented to Joss.

But he did have to admit, it felt safer, which was good now that they were on Anscom’s land. Fifteen knights had arrived from Wesgate with a note delivered from Sir Connall:

I shall not question the affairs of m’lord but do use precaution so as to return to Thorin Court in one piece. Everything is well-managed here.

Tolvar rubbed the back of his neck, ashamed that he hadn’t paid one thought to the well-being of Thorin Court. Stars, he was terrible at this earl business. He was much better at being a knight. At least he now had Elanna safely surrounded day and night by armed guards.

Their travel had resumed smoothly thus far. Only three daysremained until they reached Asalle. Already, the bruise on Elanna’s neck had faded to a greenish-yellow. For the most part, she’d recovered her voice, and she did not seem as pained when eating or drinking. A miraculous recovery, in truth. Was it the starlight that flowed through her veins that served to heal her more quickly? Tolvar had witnessed a few other strangled victims. One had died. Others had taken a full moon to recover. Stars, was he again itching to find belief?

He tromped off the campsite to find a quiet spot. He found himself needing this solitary time less and less the past week—or was there simply not time? —but still found comfort in being alone. Mayhap he was merely a man of solitude. Tolvar sat on a boulder and reached into his left side pocket. He stopped himself and, instead of drawing out Sloane’s moon cuff, drew a small stone half the size of his fist from his right side pocket. It was smooth and black save for the rough, jagged, azure blue line that ran down the middle—the Edan Stone. A piece of the moon itself, imbued with magic, so a scholar had told him. Sloane had confirmed it. She’d used it to track and defend herself from the Befallen.

And then she’d gifted it to Tolvar. He was alive because of her, because of this stone. In many ways, he hated this hunk of rock.

He held it at eye level. If he so desired, Tolvar was certain he could snap the stone in twain. He knew not why he kept it. ’Twas naught but a weighty reminder. The stone was placed back in his pocket, and Tolvar found himself pacing back and forth. There’d been so much going on the last few days, he hadn’t had proper time to process everything Elanna had told him back in Tam’s Ford. He’d sent three scouts into villages they’d passed. Two had heard the news that the prince was not in Asalle.

His hand went to his sword. Strange that he carried this weapon again after four years of carrying his father’s. This sword had seen war already.