He finally took his eyes from the Tome and looked over to the many long, flat drawers that held the blood signatures. After staring at them for several quiet moments, he decided to give it a try.
"Prince Tristan of the House of Galland," he said loudly, much the same way he had heard Wigg and Faegan do several times before. At first he felt immensely foolish, speaking out alone into the room this way. Foolish, that was, until one of the drawers obediently opened and a sheet of parchment rose from it, to float over and land on the nearby meeting table. Tristan sat down in front of it.
Taking a deep breath, he looked at the azure signature on the page. It was the one made most recently, when Wigg and Faegan had been trying to determine whether Nicholas had indeed been Tristan's son. He immediately recognized the soft, fluid lines at the top that had come from his mother Morganna, and the harder, sharper lines at the bottom from the blood of his father, Nicholas I. But no one else in the world possessed a signature that was azure.
Except for Nicholas, he reminded himself. And he is dead. As Tristan continued to regard the swirling, azure lines, the feelings of disdain for his blood surfaced again.
Then he heard the door hinges creak a bit, and he turned to look. Wigg stood quietly in the door frame. There was no telling how long he had been there.
"Tristan," he said gently. "Are you all right?"
The prince nodded.
"I was walking by and saw the open door," Wigg went on as he came to sit next to him. He looked down at the parchment on the table. "What are you doing here all by yourself?"
As Tristan turned to look at him, Wigg could see the concern in his eyes. "There are things you need to know," the prince said softly. "I've changed, Wigg. And I have to tell someone."
"I'm listening," Wigg answered compassionately.
"Part of it is about my azure blood," Tristan said quietly. "I have come to hate it. Not only can my enemies immediately recognize me by it, but it also makes me feel distinctly isolated from the rest of the world. And the fact that it is azure keeps you and Faegan from training me, and also from allowing me to wear the Paragon, so that I might finally read the Tome. And as long as that is the case, my destiny can never be fulfilled. Nor can that of my nation." He rubbed his brow in frustration.
"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.