§113 Conclusions

Later that night, Taylor and Cecilia rode Tristan through the portals to return her to Vawdrey house in Celosia. The horse rippled like silk under the stars, eating up distance with improbable speed.

"You have an amazing household. You know that, right? Cook is incredible. That was the best party I've been to since Prudence's tenth birthday."

Taylor chuckled but didn't respond. Cook set out a buffet for the house that rivaled the best restaurant in town, with enough to feed the neighbors. Taylor didn't know how she did it, but people would be talking about her cooking for months. His moving-away party turned into a block party. Briallen borrowed a ten-pin set from the neighbors, and they played it in the street. Taylor spoke to many of them for the first time. He even got to know one of his fellow boarders a little better: Not only was the author not a spy, as Taylor had assumed, but he was so engrossed in writing his book that he was clueless to all the drama going on around him. But he had a wonderful singing voice, which got better the more he drank.

"You're sure quiet. Are you upset?"

"No. There's just a lot on my mind." He slowed Tristan as they entered the city and guided him toward the right part of town. "I know it sounds dramatic, but there are things that only I can do. It's a lot of responsibility. I'm having a hard time sorting through everything and deciding what comes next."

He had souls to free, but not until after he endured what would likely be a difficult skill-up to acquire Soul Handling. Then he had a Knexenk clone to build, a mining facility to build, a land to reclaim, and a family to protect. Somehow, he had to tackle all of that while keeping up his training. It was a lot.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you're twelve. Just do what you want to do, and let adults handle the big stuff."

"I am literally the only person in the world with certain skills."

"Normally, this is the part where I say you're taking yourself too seriously. But after today …" She hugged him from behind and squeezed hard. "At least remember to enjoy yourself, okay? And you have people around you who want to help. You don't have to do everything yourself." They rode through the gates of the Vawdrey estate and up the drive to a front door that opened with a jerk as they dismounted. Prudence was on the other side, doing her best not to look anxious.

The two girls embraced, but Prudene squinted at Taylor over Cecilia's shoulder.

"What did you do this time?"

A Letter

From: Domine Rasmusen
To: Curator Meltissa Jane

I have not heard from him either. He has gone to ground, in his words, and taken his excellent household with him. He claims he will return after he has arranged more secure living conditions for his house.

I will remain in Midway a while longer, collecting class experience as a genuine, working priest. I still live in the same room as before, though in the care of lesser hands and lacking much of its former warmth. Magic lingers in the garret, a mere breath of the storms he used to brew up there. The former shrines are empty shelves. The food has gone bland.

I miss our conversations, especially the way he moves his hands, compensating with gestures for what his mask can not give. The delicate trace of his fingers when he argues some fine point of magic (and oh, how he loves to argue magic). His laugh when he confounds others with subtle impossibilities. You had a longer association with him than I did. You must remember what he can be like.

It's remarkable he turned out this way, capable of friendship and human feeling, when his early life was spent in neglect and fear. Once again, this world has been cruel to him, but I do not think he will emerge as an enemy of the empire, not over one misbehaving princess. But we learned, too, that he is willing to kill – and do so creatively – to protect his house, by which he does not mean property. That, too, is a good sign, because it makes him human in the best and broadest sense of the word.

We in the church still hear of him. There is a new divine figure of Okanyana, a grand one, twelve feet tall, in the central temple of Okujuni. They say he carved her in less than two days. There was a mass healing in Lampshire, his work, I don't doubt, as the healer was masked and the recipients too poor to pay anything meaningful. He appears from nowhere, does his work (or what he pleases, who can tell the difference?), and vanishes.

Enzo says not to interfere with miracles because they can't be improved. It's his favorite aphorism to use on us churchmen, and it seems to me wise advice. So I've resolved not to worry unless I hear something more substantial than rumors, and trust in his character instead of guessing at his next move.

I wish you luck on your mission. I hear it was a pain to trace the tainted ore even so far as "somewhere south of Pritchard". Our mutual friend speaks highly of you, so I trust you are up to the task. Let me know through Midway's legate if you want a hand, and I'll climb into the next southbound carriage.

R.

Meltissa & Cadmius — A Southbound Train

Meltissa fanned the papers in discontent. Friendship and human feeling. Those were strange words to describe her former mentee. Back when Tylor was Bilius d'Mourne, he was wary of people. He wanted human connections but couldn't trust anyone. Especially after that brute of a so-called friend, Kistur, turned on him. What a year it must have been to change him so. Though, the priest did preface the phrase with the words capable of.

She had lost herself in reading, as she often did, and came back to her surroundings with a slight shock of recognition. She was on a southbound train, in her nest of books arranged to make the private compartment feel like home. The quickest way from Estfold's capital of Bostkirk in the north to its southernmost townships was to take a train east into Rossignol, turn south along the mountain range, and turn west near where Dimmik, Estfold, and Rossignol's borders met. They had taken that last turn hours ago and were nearing their destination: a remote whistestop station. 

Cadmius sat opposite her, amused at her deep absorption in reading. Any second now, he would say something about it.

"Good thing I'm here. Someone could have walked right in and stolen your books."

"I would have noticed if they touched my books."

As a traveling companion, the former paladin took some getting used to. For starters, he occupied more space than her last one. Nor did he come with an extensive library: his books were few and focused on weapons, maps, and monsters. Whereas people glanced at the odd boy in a mask and often chose to ignore him entirely, they were drawn to Cadmius's height, good looks, and easy smile. His presence could undercut her authority or enhance it, depending on the circumstances.

While Meltissa enjoyed a bit of camping from time to time, Cadmius thrived outdoors. He had called her a "fair-weather adventurer" more than once. She certainly hoped the weather was fair for the next several days, as they would be traveling from town to town by horseback.

"That's the third time you've read that letter. Are you going to tell me what it says?"

"Only that Taylor has gone to ground until he can arrange safe accommodations for his people."

"Is he building a castle? I wouldn't blame him, after the Rebecca fiasco." Cadmius nodded at the window where Mt. Uroda smoked in the distance. "Rossignol would probably give him the land if he asked for it."

She smiled wryly. "It would be just like him. And then he'd complain about everyone calling him a dark lord."

They watched the far mountain slide past as their destination grew closer. Somewhere along the border between Estfold and Dimmik, someone was digging up corrupted ore and shipping it to the imperial capital. It was her job to find the source.