"I don't blame the two of you for not training me," he went on softly. "How could I? But sometimes my blood makes me feel like an outcast, especially when I am among the ones I love the most. I'm not angry that my blood is endowed. I still cherish that fact with all my heart. And my desire, my need to learn the craft burns as hotly within me as ever. But if I don't soon find a way to return my blood to what it once was, sometimes I think I'll go mad." Leaning back in his chair, he looked to the ceiling. He suddenly realized that simply telling all of this to someone he cared about had made him feel a bit better.
"I understand," Wigg said. "I can see it in you. We all can. But there simply hasn't been time to properly search for the solution to your problem. And to tell you the truth, we don't really know how. But I know your answer is out there, somewhere. And together, one day we will find it. But just now I must tell you that we have far greater concerns to worry about."
Tristan placed his forearms on the table and looked into the wizard's eyes. "You're talking about the Scroll of the Vigors, aren't you?" he asked. "What have you learned?"
Wigg's face darkened. "We would prefer to inform everyone at once, after we are sure," he answered. "As you know, during her time in the caves, Celeste was forced by Ragnar to learn Old Eutracian. We will never know what use for that he had planned-but it is without a doubt the single good to come out of those years of torture. Anyway, she, Faegan, and I have been deciphering the scroll for a week now, and we have never seen anything like it. It is absolutely amazing. It opens up entire new vistas of the craft that had been previously closed to us. But please be patient for just a bit longer. We hope that by tomorrow's dawn, we will be sure. And if what we suspect is true, then what we have found in the scroll represents the greatest peril we have ever faced." A short silence followed as Tristan looked down at the azure signature again and considered the import of the wizard's words.
"You intimated that there was more than one thing you wished to discuss," the lead wizard said. "What is it?"
As Tristan looked into Wigg's aquamarine eyes, he knew that once it had been said there would be no going back. But he also knew in his heart that he had to be truthful. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again.
"I love your daughter," he said softly, irrevocably. "Forgive me, Wigg, but I do."
Wigg smiled. "I know," he answered gently.
"You do?"
"Of course. Everyone in the palace knows. They also know how she feels about you. Only a fool could miss the way the two of you look at each another."
"I'm sorry," Tristan replied carefully, not knowing exactly what to say. "I know how damaged she was. And I stayed away, because I wanted to respect that. But she tells me she is much better now. I'm glad for her, and I've never seen her so vibrant and alive. But I also know how little time the two of you have had to come to know each other, and I didn't want to intrude on that, either." Pausing, he looked down at his hands. "Despite how much I cared, being with her seemed impossible. For so many reasons.
"Still, I couldn't help but love her," he went on. "When I first saw her that night on the cliffs, the feeling swept over me like a storm, and it simply won't go away."
Wigg looked over thoughtfully at the man he loved so much. From the time he had watched Tristan come into the world, he had done everything in his power to prepare him for the teachings he would eventually impart into his blood, and for the destiny the prince was chosen to fulfill. But not even the lead wizard could have foreseen the turmoil and loss that would accompany Tristan and Shailiha on their unexpectedly dangerous journey to enlightenment. And now, in the midst of it all, had come Celeste. Reaching out, Wigg put a hand on Tristan's shoulder.
"You have my blessing, if that's what you're asking for," he said quietly. "Nothing would make me happier than to see the two of you together. And I mean that. She loves you, Tristan. And with an ardor I have seldom seen over the course of my three centuries."
As Tristan looked up, Wigg could see a tear in his eye. Realizing that the same thing was about to happen to him as well, the wizard promptly stood, cleared his throat, and busily rearranged his robes.
"Now then," he said, his wizardly demeanor apparently having retuned, "I must get back to Faegan and Celeste. They'll be wondering where I've been." One eyebrow came up. "And you know how Faegan can be."
As Wigg turned to go, Tristan reached out and gently took the wizard by one arm. "Thank you," he said softly.
"There is no reason to thank me," Wigg answered back. "In truth, I doubt there is any power on earth that could keep the two of you apart. All I ask is that you continue to treat her well."
"I will," the prince answered back, his voice cracking a bit.
With a final, comforting smile, Wigg left the room.
His mind awash with the memories of everything he had been through and thoughts of all that might still lie ahead, Tristan remained there in silence for some time before he finally ordered the parchment back to its drawer. Suddenly exhausted, he left the room and began the long walk to his chambers.
Very soon now, he knew, he and the others would hear what the wizards had to say about the Scrolls of the Ancients.
CHAPTER
Sixty-one
F rom his place in the bow of his warship, Wulfgar watched and listened as the oncoming waves split noisily against the prow. Looking higher out over the breadth of the nighttime sea he felt his long, sandy hair sway behind his back in the wind, in time with the ceaseless rocking of the ship.
The voyage of the last seven days had been uneventful, and the cold winds had remained brisk, allowing his fleet to make good time. The screechlings and sea slitherers had kept pace well, following dutifully behind in the wake of his vast armada. Demonslavers prowled the decks, the ships' running lamps pointing up their lifeless white skin. As the ship swayed beneath him, Wulfgar took a deep breath of the crisp sea air.
Looking at the reflections of the rose-colored moons in the ever-surging waves, his thoughts turned back to Serena and Krassus. He had no doubt that the diseased wizard was dead. Watch for the lightning and the wind, he had told Serena. Then shall you know that he has truly expired. When it happens, order a contingent of slavers to lay his body in a small skiff and set it ablaze as they push it out to sea. Wulfgar and Serena owed everything to Krassus, and he deserved to be well remembered. Then Wulfgar's thoughts drifted to his beautiful new queen.
He loved her deeply, and missed her as he missed nothing else in the world. Since she had been turned to the Vagaries, she had never been away from his side until now. He missed how she looked, how she smelled, and the supple touch of her skin. He wanted to hold her in his strong arms and take her over and over again, making her beg, then gasp, and finally cry out in joy, just as she always did. And already he missed the daughter she carried, even though her pregnancy was still without outer evidence. He would finish Nicholas' work quickly, and return home to the Citadel in triumph.
Nicholas, he thought. The nephew he had never seen. What a magnificent being he must have been! How he would have loved meeting him, conversing with him, planning with him. Part of Wulfgar could even understand how Krassus had been so willing, almost eager, in fact, to die and go to him, even though it had been Nicholas himself who had made it so.
But Nicholas' plans lived on-first in the blood of Krassus, and now in Wulfgar's. He would reign supreme, he swore. The practitioners of the Vigors would soon know the exquisite sting of their defeat, as would the entire world.