“Floren of the Blathma?”
“Aye!”
“Torin of the Gitta?”
“Aye!”
“Liam of the Fiacre?”
“Aye!”
“Accius of the Devyn?”
“Aye!”
“Roan of the Aghy?”
“Aye!”
“Rendor of the Felan?”
“Aye!”
“Then it is settled,” Lara said.
“Not quite,” Rendor told them. “You have not given us your vote, Lara.”
“I am not a member of the council,” Lara replied.
“Nay, you are not,” he agreed, “but you are the founder of this council, and in a matter as important as this one I believe you should have the right to vote.”
The other lords murmured in agreement with Rendor.
Quick tears sprang up behind her eyelids to sting her eyes. Lara nodded her acknowledgment of the honor they were giving her. “In the matter of Roan and Rendor, the founder of the council votes aye,” she said. Then she raised her goblet. “To the Outlands,” she toasted, and they raised their goblets to join her, their voices strongly echoing hers.
“To the Outlands!”
The meeting broke up, the lords going to their sleeping places, but Rendor remained behind to speak with Lara.
“You might have told me,” he said dryly.
“If I had you would have refused me,” Lara answered him. “Your genuine surprise at my choice proved to the others there was no collusion between us. Given what has happened, Rendor, my friend, there was no time for the clan lords to debate and argue over this matter. We needed to settle the succession quickly. I have soothed Roan’s ego, and believe me that none of the others wanted the position themselves.”
“Sometimes you frighten me, Lara. You know each of us far too well, I think.”
“I will be leaving the Outlands soon,” she told him quietly. “I am called once again by my destiny.”
“But we need you!” he exclaimed.
Lara shook her head. “You flatter me, Rendor, but I will not leave you defenseless, I promise. Whatever mischief Gaius Prospero is brewing up I will counter.”
“How?” he wanted to know. “If you are not here how can you help us?”
“I am only going to King Archeron. Gaius Prospero is not as powerful as he believes. In the City and the Midlands, aye! But the Shadow Princes scorn him, and the Coastal Kings will not cooperate with him because it would not be in their interests to do so. As for the Forest Lords, they have their own difficulties. They may agree to support the Master of the Merchants, but their support will amount to little or nothing. Your friends and mine will protect the Outlands from any trouble.”
“Will you remain with Archeron?”
“I don’t know, but I do not think so,” Lara answered.
“Where will you go?”
“I cannot say. All I can tell you is that for now I must go to the coast,” Lara said. “But I will not go until autumn. I still have things to do to help ease the transition between Vartan’s rule and yours, and between Vartan and Liam.”
“Your children?” he asked.
“Are Fiacre, and will remain here,” she told him.
He nodded. Then he said, “Rahil will be overwhelmed by this.”
“I will speak with her when I visit you,” Lara assured him.
“Lara, I am so sorry,” Rendor told her.
“I am sorry, too,” she replied, putting her hand on his. “I never imagined an ending like this. Oh, I knew one day I would be called again, but I thought when that time came and I prepared to go, Vartan would grumble and complain, but in the end he would keep his promise to me for he was not a man to break his promises. My mother says it was his fate to die at Adon’s hand. I do not understand such a fate, Rendor.”
“Nor do I, Lara,” Rendor said.
“I suppose that lack of understanding is my human side,” Lara told him with a small smile. “But my heart has become cold and faerie again. If it had not, I should not be able to do what I must.”
“I will lead the Outlands to the best of my abilities,” Rendor promised her.
“I have great faith in you,” she replied. “So did Vartan.”
The lord of the Felan began to weep softly. “I cannot believe my friend is gone,” he said. “Just weeks ago we met on the plains and spoke of the autumn’s Gathering. He wanted me to bring my finest wool cloth for you to choose from so he might have a new cloak made for you for winter.”
“He was thoughtful that way,” Lara replied. She had to get away from Rendor. If she did not, she knew she would collapse in a fit of weeping. “It is late,” she said. “I must find my bed, Rendor. Tomorrow will be a busy day for me, and Bera is quite helpless now.” She patted the hand in hers, and pulled free. “Good night, my friend.” Then she hurried from the hall to her own chamber.
Safely locked within the room she had shared with Vartan, Lara did give way to a small spell of weeping, but only to release the tensions that had been building up within her ever since Vartan’s death two days ago. Two days! The time had gone so quickly. She bathed her face and hands, and kicking off her slippers, lay down. She had done what she needed to do with regards to the Outlands. Rendor did not have her husband’s stature, but he would be respected by Hetar in time. She had been surprised to find an ally in Accius of the Devyn. She suspected her job to turn the clan lords from Roan’s candidacy would have been more difficult without him. She must remember to thank him.
Now all that remained was to plan more carefully for the children. She would leave them at summer’s end, before the Gathering. It would give her time to prepare Dillon, and guide Liam as Vartan would have had him guided. And Noss must understand that from time to time Ilona would visit her grandchildren. She must not be fearful of the queen of the Forest Faeries. Lara smiled to herself at the thought of trying to forge a friendship between her mother and Noss. Her eyes began to grow heavy. Tomorrow would be a long, important day. And at its end she and Dillon would light Vartan’s funeral pyre at the very moment of the sunset, thereby ensuring her husband’s journey from the light into the light. She felt the tears beginning to come again.
“Vartan,” she whispered to the night. “Why did it have to end this way?” But there was no answer. Lara wondered if there would ever be. She sighed, resigned. She should know better than anyone, she thought, that the lines between the worlds were firm once a soul had crossed into the next life. Vartan might look down on them from the realm of the Celestial Actuary, but Lara would never again hear his voice.
Chapter 2
IT WAS THE LONGEST DAY of the year in the Outlands when Vartan of the Fiacre was sent off to the kingdom of the Celestial Actuary. Not a cloud spoiled the clear blue sky. The sun shone down the day long as Vartan was feted, feasted and toasted. There were almost as many people as at the yearly Gathering in the autumn, and Lara realized that many members of the other clan families had somehow managed to come to pay homage to her husband. The day long she moved among them with her son, Dillon, speaking to those she knew, accepting condolences from strangers who approached her with tales of Vartan’s kindness to them once, seeing to everyone’s comfort. That they had food, that they had drink, that they had shelter from the hot summer sun.
Many spoke of the grave maturity of Vartan and Lara’s young son, Dillon, especially when he had walked from the hall leading those bearing his father’s body to the funeral pyre. He had accompanied his mother the day long, his demeanor almost protective of her. She spoke to him in low, quiet tones, pointing out certain members of the various clans; introducing him to the men who might someday be of help to him. Dillon gave his hand to these men, and looked directly at them with Vartan’s eyes. Many were startled by the adult behavior of such a young boy. But Dillon, son of Vartan, knew on the day of his father’s departure ceremony that he would never again be a child.