Tristan looked into her eyes and held her gaze. “If that is true, then promise me something,” he said.
“Anything.”
“If you should somehow survive all of this, and you truly value your new life as you say you do, then make sure you deserve it.”
“What do you mean?” she asked in surprise.
“My life was once golden, with no worries or cares,” he said. “I foolishly took it all for granted, and for a very long time. I lost almost all of my family and friends before realizing how precious they were. Your father tells us that your blood is inferior only to Shailiha’s, and Shailiha’s only to my own. Therefore, should I die, your blood shall become the second most powerful in the world. I can see that you have your father’s strength and courage. You must, to have survived all that you did. Listen to your father, and learn the craft well. Be one of the strongest of people ever to master it, for I know in my heart you will be able. But follow the teachings of Wigg and Faegan only, and do so strictly for the sake of the Vigors, keeping the ethics they deem so important alive for future generations of the endowed—generations that I shall never see.”
His eyes lingered on the graceful curves of her face. “There is something else I wish to tell you.”
Celeste placed her fingertips on his lips. “I know,” she said. “I may be new to your world, but I still see much, including the way you look at me.” She closed her eyes, choking back a sigh before opening them again. “But for now, I must leave.”
With that she touched her lips gently to his and then stood. Removing a scented handkerchief from the bodice of her gown, she placed it on his lap, then walked to the door. For a moment, she paused, her head lowered. And then, without turning back, she left.
Several moments later Shailiha reentered the room. She sat on the edge of his bed and smiled bravely. “It is now my turn to say good-bye,” she whispered. Her voice seemed very small. “And there is so little time. The Minions have already granted the wizards’ wishes, and everyone awaits me.” She looked down at Morganna in her sling. “I hope you can watch your niece grow up.”
Resolutely, then, she grasped the gold medallion hanging around her neck, the exact duplicate of his, and looked directly into his eyes. “I shall always wear mine, no matter what,” she said softly. “You came to the ends of the earth to find me, and if I must, I will one day do the same for you.”
“I know,” he whispered. There was so much more he wished to say, so much more he knew he would later greatly regret not saying. But just now, the words wouldn’t come. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again.
Shailiha closed her eyes, nodding gently.
And then she took a deep breath and stood up. Looking seriously into his face, she said, “Trust the process, Chosen One.”
Tristan’s brows drew down in confusion. “W-What?” he asked.
“Trust the process, Chosen One,” she repeated. With that, she kissed him on the forehead and turned to the door. Before he could speak to her again, she too was gone.
Tristan lay back in the bed, exhausted, wondering what she had meant. But he was asleep before any answer came.
As Shailiha stepped up into one of the several Minion litters, Martha smiled at her.
Wigg turned his head anxiously in the direction of the princess. “Did you tell him? Are you sure he heard you clearly?”
“Yes,” Shailiha answered, holding her baby close. “He did.” Tears came again, and she closed her eyes.
“Then tomorrow we shall know,” Wigg answered.
Gently rising into the sky, closely accompanied by the several thousand Minion warriors sworn to protect them, the litters turned north, toward Shadowood.
50
When Tristan finally awakened again, it was to find Ox looking down at him.
“It almost dawn,” the Minion said. “Chosen One all right?”
His head still swimming, Tristan got out of bed, testing his abilities. He hurt everywhere, especially in his right arm and shoulder. He found that he could move it, though it remained stiff. He shook his head. Bad as it is, it will simply have to do. For today we go into battle.
“I’m able to fight.” His grin to Ox was stark and determined. He dressed as quickly as he could, then placed the dreggan and scabbard over his back against the gray fur jacket Shailiha had given him and donned the leather quiver that held his dirks, adjusting it so that the handles of the weapons would not interfere with one another. He reached back to check that none of the weapons would stick, though the movement caused his shoulder to burn in agony.
And then he saw the brain hook.
He picked it up from the night table and turned it this way and that. Its pearl handle and the hook at the end of the blade gleamed quietly in the light of the chandeliers. For a moment he smiled, wondering how many secrets it held, and how many more it would yet participate in. Finally he concealed it within his right knee boot. Then, remembering another item he would like to have, he retrieved the handkerchief Celeste had given him and tucked it into a pocket.
Another table was laden with food and drink: tea, long since cold; dark bread; and cheese. The first few bites reminded him how long it had been since he’d had nourishment, and he ate and drank greedily. Finally feeling more refreshed, he squared his shoulders and walked to the door with Ox at his side.
As they neared the field to the north Tristan slowed, amazed at the sight before them.
All of the Minion warriors, some eighty thousand strong, were standing in the cold, white snow, awaiting his orders. The sun was just coming up, and its orange and golden rays illuminated the warriors one seemingly endless row at a time. When he saw what some of those in the forward areas were holding, it took his breath away.
At Traax’s sharp order, battle drums began to sound. Fifty of the warriors walked forward, each holding a long pole. At the end of each pole was a blue-and-gold battle flag carrying the heraldry of his family, the House of Galland.
The gold field of each flag had superimposed upon it a blue Eutracian broadsword and a roaring lion. The sight strengthened Tristan’s heart. They march to their deaths under my family’s flag. I could never have asked for more than this.
For the first time since he had seen them violently crashing through the roof of the palace on his ill-fated coronation day, he felt genuinely pleased to have the savage, winged warriors in his presence.
As Tristan watched, they all went to one knee in the snow, lowering their heads in submission. With a single, unified voice, they shouted, “I live to serve!” Several moments passed as Tristan looked down at them, the snow lightly falling on their bodies and wings.
“You may rise,” he said, finally finding his voice.
Traax approached him, smiling. “We didn’t think you would mind, my lord,” he said. “We asked the wizards where we might find these, and they gladly obliged us. We march for you, and you alone. Under your banner—the banner that is now also ours.”
“Thank you, Traax,” Tristan answered softly. “And I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all.”
Just as the prince was about to address the warriors again, some of them began looking upward, pointing to the brightening sky. Tristan, Traax, and Ox raised their eyes to behold what was taking shape above them.
Writing.
Spellbound, Tristan watched as a single hatchling with a rider, high over the royal palace, somehow began tracing words into the sky. With every turn the bird made, a flowing line followed gracefully behind it, leaving azure letters. Slowly, the letters began to spell out words. As he watched the twisted, sick poem continue to form, Tristan’s hands balled up into fists. The rider must be Scrounge, but he knew that the power would be coming from Nicholas. Finally the verse was complete: