From nearby darkness came a choked-off cry, and she saw Terran momentarily tense, but he didn’t look toward his father. Instead he turned to face Rialla fully. The fire was behind him, allowing night to shadow his face, while he could see her clearly. She didn’t know if she showed anything beyond the distant numbness that protected her.
“The damage to him is permanent?” Again his voice was detached.
Rialla nodded. She paused and said in a voice that matched Terran’s, “He hasn’t been totally sane for some time. He would have reached this point eventually regardless.”
Terran nodded. “I know.” He studied his foot as if it had some sudden significance. “I owe you my life, Rialla. Thank you.”
She hadn’t expected gratitude. Rialla eyed him warily and inclined her head.
Terran sighed. “He would have killed me. Tamas warned me that my father had approached him. I took Father aside and explained what would happen to anyone who attempted to harm me—I thought it would be enough to stop him.
“It started when I caught him using Altis’s name to gain willing slaves. Altis isn’t opposed to the natural order, but he has no need of slaves, and dislikes having his name used frivolously for personal gain. When I explained this to Father, he reacted badly.
“I think he made his decision to kill me after I tried to save Karsten. I liked Karsten, and his death wasn’t necessary for Altis’s purposes—just Father’s. I thought I could take care of the spirit-eater, the swamp beast Father intended to kill Karsten. He thought that such a creature would fan Darran’s fear of mages and stop any alliance with Reth. But once it touched you, killing it would have killed you as well, so I gave you the chance to defeat it. Father was right: it didn’t occur to me that he would kill Karsten himself.”
Rialla sat mutely through his speech, nursing the remaining drink and gradually recovering from her efforts as her headache eased. When Terran stopped speaking, she thought of something that bothered her.
“How is it that you recovered from the sleeping draft that fast?” she asked.
Terran shrugged and said, “Poisons and drugs affect me only as much as Altis sees fit to allow. I was never really asleep, but I couldn’t move. Altis wanted Father rendered harmless and he chose you to do it, because I would not.”
Rialla jerked her head back at his last statement, her anger outweighing her fatigue. “No,” she said firmly. “I chose to attack Winterseine on my own. Altis may rule your life, but he does not rule mine.”
He smiled then, a tired and sad smile. “Doesn’t he?”
Rialla set aside the blanket and stood, turning away from Terran.
“Where are you going?” There was no threat in Terran’s voice, but Rialla stopped, turning back to face him.
“Where I belong,” she replied.
“To Sianim?” he asked. “You could stay here, with me. Altis appreciates beautiful things, as do I. He will rule this world, you know; it will be a wondrous place. He will allow no violence, no wars or hatred; people will worship him and have no need for power or gold. They will hold to Altis’s purposes and be at peace.”
Rialla met his gaze steadily. “Your Utopia cannot exist when humans are given the right to make their own decisions. People can always find something to disagree about.”
Terran shook his head. “In Altis’s kingdom, people will be granted the wisdom through Altis, to make correct choices.”
“I understand now why Altis does not object to slavery,” commented Rialla quietly, “as that is what he is proposing for everyone. A slave is still a slave, even if she is well treated. I will never willingly be a slave again, Terran. I would die first.” There was peace in that knowledge, a peace she hadn’t known before.
“So be it.” Terran nodded, stirring the fire with a convenient stick.
Rialla waited. Terran watched her a moment and then smiled again. “Go back to Sianim, Rialla. You have served Altis’s purposes this night.”
Rialla wasted no time escaping the clearing where Terran sat with his father. As soon as she could no longer see the light of the camp fire, she stopped and searched with her weary empathic talent for any hint of Tris’s presence.
Rialla?
She could tell that he was exhausted and in pain, but she was so happy to find him alive she didn’t care.
I’m coming, she told him. Wait there.
No, he replied shortly. I’m fine, and I can come to you faster than you can travel here.
Rialla found a comfortable place to sit, under the shelter of a large tree where the rain didn’t fall as hard. She waited.
It took Tris less than a third of the time it would have taken a human to find Rialla where she slept on the wet ground.
She stirred briefly when he wrapped the saddle blanket around her, but she didn’t really open her eyes until he started cooking over the fire—it smelled good.
“I had to leave the horse when I came,” he said, stirring the small pot suspended over the fire, “but I brought the saddlebags with me.” Without pausing in his speech, or looking away from his cooking, he continued, “I believe I owe you an explanation.”
Rialla sat up and rubbed her eyes. Though the rain had stopped, it was still dark; she hadn’t slept long. She felt surprisingly good for the brief rest—but that was one of the benefits of traveling with a healer.
“I believe you do.”
He set the long-handled spoon on a rock and left his stew. He crouched on his heels in front of her. He called a magelight to him, giving Rialla a clear view of his face. “Among the sylvan, the bonding I set between us is used to mate pairs for life,” he said baldly.
She stared at him. “You mean we’re married, and you didn’t tell me?”
She surprised a laugh out of him. “I suppose you could look upon it so, yes.”
“Why did you do it?” she asked.
“Before I met you, the woman who called me to Tallonwood gave me a seeing. Such things are unclear by their nature, but from what she said I knew that I would meet the one with whom I could bond.”
“You mean that you could not bond with anyone you pleased?” Rialla asked.
“No. I have never met anyone with whom a bonding would work. There are so few sylvan now, fewer still ever find a bond mate.”
Rialla thought about what he had said. “You formed the bond between us because a seer told you it could work?”
“No,” he said. “I did it because I finally found someone with whom I could belong.” He stood then, going back to the food, but he didn’t pick up the spoon.
Instead he bowed his head and said softly, “I’m sorry.”
Deep in her own thoughts, Rialla only dimly heard him continue. “I thought at first that I could break the link, if you didn’t want it. It isn’t supposed to strengthen as fast as it did. In the old days, when my people were many, the initial ceremony lasted for three months. If the couple were unwilling to continue so bound, the link was removed. Trenna told me we could bond. She didn’t say that you’d be willing.”
Rialla remembered the things she’d learned about him last night, remembered the soul-eating loneliness and found its echo in herself. If she’d known of such a bond, she would have moved mountains to achieve it. When she considered it, the bond didn’t frighten her—not at all. She hugged her reply to herself for a moment, then said softly, “I’m not.”
“I know,” said Tris, misunderstanding. “But there’s nothing that I can do about it. It’s been too late since Winterseine put you on the water wheel.”
“No,” said Rialla, lifting her face so he could see her smile. “I meant that I’m not sorry, not that I’m not willing.”
Tris whirled to face her, and gave her the autocratically displeased look that she’d seen him turn on Winterseine. Rialla bit her lip, knowing that he’d be offended if she laughed. Half her euphoria was caused by fatigue, so she fought to keep properly sedate.