“Highmage,” Par-Salian said. “What of Ladonna? Is she safe? Do you know?”
“She is safe,” Astathan said. “I couldn’t scry Berthal’s movements, but I could follow yours. Likely, she is your best hope of keeping the Black Robes from isolating themselves completely. You have a connection with her, no?”
Par-Salian shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with sharing his personal life with Astathan “Did anyone else survive?” he asked.
“No … and it’s easier for history to forget about them if it believes them dead. Leave the dead where they are. The future is consigned to the living.”
EPILOGUE
It was a quiet night for Palanthas, but the city hummed with speculation and omens. Some rumors surrounded the growing bands of goblins that were moving through the countryside. Where they were going, nobody knew; nobody survived long enough to ask. Of greater worry, however, was the spread of the Medusa Plague. It had struck Solamnia the hardest, melting the skin of its victims, until their arms turned into three-headed snakes and the afflicted became stone. Refugees clogged the High Clerist’s Tower, but the temples were closed and the Knight’s Spur sealed to prevent Palanthas from becoming inundated. The port of Palanthas was calm. A handful of ships came and went, but the navy quarantined all arriving ships and inspected them for carriers of the plague. Still the infection somehow found its way into the city.
It was a time of fear, and thus, the only time to travel unmolested.
Ladonna knew the streets well, the buildings of Smiths’ Alley wedded together so closely over tight alleys and corridors. She knew the area well enough to keep a spell at the ready. No trouble met her; she arrived at her destination with her package cradled in one arm.
The building was as she remembered it, the painted rose barely visible over the barn door in the alleyway. Yes, it was still Rosie’s place, the only home she’d ever known, the one bright spot in her childhood. That brought a smile to her face. She knocked on the door and looked around just in case. Through the cracks in the barn wall, she could see the dance of approaching candlelight.
“Who is it?” a woman asked.
“Ladonna … Adwin’s daughter.”
Someone pulled the latch off; the door slid open.
The woman standing there was strong, with a thickness to her waist and arms that said her strength was muscle as well as fat. Her biceps were meaty, her hair fading from dirty blond to gray. She was no Rosie, Ladonna realized sadly, but Tythonnia was doing a good job of following in the old woman’s footsteps.
Tythonnia cast one look at Ladonna, at the package she carried wrapped in red cloth, before gently pulling her in. The baby in Ladonna’s arms whimpered in her sleep.
The barn had changed; the stable walls had been removed and the floor brushed of its hay. A row of bench desks faced a small podium beneath the loft, and along one wall rested a row of books. Rosie’s barn was a classroom. Ladonna inspected the books with a glance; they were all simple reading and history books, nothing of magic. Ladonna continued nursing her child as she sat on one of the benches.
“What’s her name?” Tythonnia asked. She offered Ladonna a glass of warm cider and sat next to her.
“Kira,” Ladonna said. “I told people the baby belongs to Arianna, my mentor, but …”
“Par-Salian?”
“He doesn’t know he has a daughter,” Ladonna said. “I’m keeping it that way.”
“Why?” Tythonnia asked.
“It’s … a long story.”
A shuffle in the loft distracted them both. Staring down at them was a boy. He was perhaps seven or eight with brown hair and shockingly light green eyes that seemed almost gold in hue. Ladonna knew those eyes; she’d watched them die before.
The breath fled her lungs, and she stared at Tythonnia. “What’s his name?” she asked.
“Berthal,” Tythonnia answered with a wistful smile.
Another face appeared overhead in the loft; it belonged to a mousy woman with a curiously intense gaze. Ladonna knew her as welclass="underline" Mariyah. Mariyah recognized her in turn. Her eyes widened in shock.
“Mariyah, love,” Tythonnia said calmly. “Could you please put Berthal back to bed?”
Mariyah nodded, her gaze still on Ladonna; the suspicion never left her as she took the boy by the shoulders and ushered him out of sight.
“Should I leave?” Ladonna asked.
“No,” Tythonnia replied. “Whatever anger I felt towards you for Berthal’s death is gone now. My son is alive because of you. I’m sorry if that’s why you didn’t visit while Rosie was still here.”
“I meant to attend her funeral,” Ladonna said ruefully. She adjusted Kira and let the infant continue feeding.
Tythonnia nodded. “If it’s any consolation, she died in her sleep. She was happy. She let me turn her barn into a classroom. She was grandmother again, to Berthal and all the children who came here to learn.”
Ladonna tucked her head down and tried not to weep. The tears would not listen, however, and they flowed until they salted Kira’s cheeks.
“Ladonna … what are you doing here?” Tythonnia asked.
“I came to tell you,” Ladonna said, struggling not to sob. She inhaled deeply, but her breath seemed to stutter and skip across her throat. “Remember that thing with Dumas? Why she came after us?” she finally asked, changing the subject. “It was Belize who sent her. He was controlling her through the book on her chest. He was a renegade as well … but for his own ambitions.”
“I see,” Tythonnia said. She stayed quiet. That was not the reason Ladonna was there, but she also knew the woman would explain herself in her own time.
“Anyway, Belize is dead. Some time ago. Justarius now sits on the conclave, as do I,” she said rather proudly.
“Par-Salian?”
“Highmage,” Ladonna said quietly.
“I’ve heard,” Tythonnia said. “But you’re not satisfied with just sitting on the conclave, are you?”
“No,” she admitted. “I wish to be master of my order.”
“But you can’t do that with a daughter?” she asked.
“Perhaps, if I was a Red or White Robe wizard, I might. But as a member of the Black Robes? Kira would become a-”
“Liability?” Tythonnia asked. She couldn’t help but sneer at the thought, that once again the orders spent more time being petty than advancing the cause of magic everywhere. After the “incident,” they’d done their best to wipe out the remaining practitioners of Wyldling magic, and even the Vagros had all but vanished.
“You may not approve,” Ladonna said, “but yes. She’ll become a target to those seeking to curtail my ambitions.”
“Then retire. Just be her mother.”
“I can’t,” Ladonna whispered. “Dark times are upon us,” she said, trying to soothe her fidgeting baby. “The auguries are there, as plain as day. The world is about to unleash a storm that may rival the Cataclysm in how it changes the world. We all feel it in our bones. The Black Robes are retiring into the shadows to watch and wait. Nobody who has touched upon the magic of the black moon, called upon Nuitari, can avoid this.”
Ladonna shook her head. “Anyways. Better Kira know the love of a real mother than one too busy with her own ambitions.”
“You want me to raise her?” Tythonnia said. Her eyes widened.
“I want you to give her the same chance Rosie gave me. You’re my-you’re her only hope.” Ladonna covered her breast and slung Kira’s head unto her shoulder. She patted the infant’s back, waiting for her to burp. “Please,” Ladonna begged. “I don’t know where else to turn.”
“Won’t anyone miss her?” Tythonnia asked.
“I’ll say I gave her to a henchman to deliver to a family in Palanthas. She was lost at sea in a storm.”
“If anyone reads your thoughts-”
“They’ll find the lie there as the only truth I know. Protecting Kira means deceiving everyone. Including myself. I’ll take steps to ensure that.”