all.”
Colin almost didn’t answer, Lotaern’s tone carrying an edge, some of the anger over not being consulted about the Winter Tree before its introduction to the Evant seeping through. “I created them,” he finally said. “In some sense, they are a part of me. And unlike the Wraiths, I have not fully embraced the Well. It hasn’t affected me to the extent that it has changed them.” He thought about the stain of the Shadow that swirled beneath his skin beneath the outer robe and the shirt beneath. Creating the Seasonal Trees— and now the knife—as well as trying to establish a balance between the awakened Wells had taken its toll.
“I see.” Lotaern considered for a moment, long enough for Colin to begin wondering what he was thinking, but then he dropped his gaze back to the knife.
“Molding the knife is one thing,” he said, then set the blade back down onto the table between them. “But it doesn’t address the real question.”
“Which is?”
Lotaern looked up. “Does it work? Can it be used against the sukrael? Can it kill one of the Wraiths?”
Colin straightened. “Short of testing it on myself, there’s only one way to find out.” He thought about what Aeren had said on the balcony decades ago, about the dark understanding he’d seen in Eraeth’s eyes, about Walter.
“And do you know where the Wraiths are?”
Colin shook his head. “No. The Faelehgre have still not determined how to track them, or the Shadows, except through the news of those who have been attacked by them.”
Lotaern stilled and frowned. “I thought—” he began, then halted and murmured, almost to himself, “No, you wouldn’t know, would you? You’ve been within the mountain for the last month.”
“I wouldn’t know what?” Colin asked.
Lotaern moved away from the table, toward the two guardsmen and the door. “When the acolyte said that you were here, waiting for me, I thought you’d come for a different reason.” He motioned to the head guardsman, returning the bloody cloth at the same time. The moody guardsman nodded and stepped out into the corridor beyond, and for the first time Colin thought that perhaps the tension he’d felt from Lotaern and the guards of the Order of the Flame came from something other than the strained relationship the Chosen and he maintained.
The Chosen turned back.“Follow me.Vaeren will escort us to the top of the temple. There’s something I need to show you.”
Colin hesitated only a moment, suddenly uncertain and uneasy. He retrieved his satchel, removed a swath of finely made chain mail, the links so small it was nearly cloth, wrapped the wooden knife in the metal folds, and tucked it away.
Vaeren and the other guard were waiting in the outer corridor and began moving as soon as Colin appeared. Members of the Order of the Flame stepped out of their path as they wound through the corridors, climbing stairs until they’d reached the main level of the temple of Aielan that stood in the center of Caercaern. The groups of Flame fell away, replaced by the scurrying acolytes in training in the temple, and still they ascended flight after flight of stairs, passing through corridors that Colin had never seen even during his years of study.The members of the Flame looked apprehensive, but the acolytes merely appeared curious.
“Where are we going? What is it that I need to see?”
“Wait,” Lotaern said. “We’re almost there.”
The wide stairs leveled out, a set of doors at the far end of a narrow hall. Vaeren outpaced them, reaching the doors with enough time to open them just as they arrived at the threshold. A gust of frigid air, tasting of winter and the snows of the mountains, blasted through the opening and bit into Colin’s skin, passing through his robes as if he were naked, and then he followed Lotaern out onto the roof of the temple into the darkness of night. The Chosen didn’t pause, moving across the stone roof toward the building’s edge,
Colin almost didn’t answer, Lotaern’s tone carrying an edge, some of the anger over not being consulted about the Winter Tree before its introduction to the Evant seeping through. “I created them,” he finally said. “In some sense, they are a part of me. And unlike the Wraiths, I have not fully embraced the Well. It hasn’t affected me to the extent that it has changed them.” He thought about the stain of the Shadow that swirled beneath his skin beneath the outer robe and the shirt beneath. Creating the Seasonal Trees— and now the knife—as well as trying to establish a balance between the awakened Wells had taken its toll.
“I see.” Lotaern considered for a moment, long enough for Colin to begin wondering what he was thinking, but then he dropped his gaze back to the knife.
“Molding the knife is one thing,” he said, then set the blade back down onto the table between them. “But it doesn’t address the real question.”
“Which is?”
Lotaern looked up. “Does it work? Can it be used against the sukrael? Can it kill one of the Wraiths?”
Colin straightened. “Short of testing it on myself, there’s only one way to find out.” He thought about what Aeren had said on the balcony decades ago, about the dark understanding he’d seen in Eraeth’s eyes, about Walter.
“And do you know where the Wraiths are?”
Colin shook his head. “No. The Faelehgre have still not determined how to track them, or the Shadows, except through the news of those who have been attacked by them.”
Lotaern stilled and frowned. “I thought—” he began, then halted and murmured, almost to himself, “No, you wouldn’t know, would you? You’ve been within the mountain for the last month.”
“I wouldn’t know what?” Colin asked.
Lotaern moved away from the table, toward the two guardsmen and the door. “When the acolyte said that you were here, waiting for me, I thought you’d come for a different reason.” He motioned to the head guardsman, returning the bloody cloth at the same time. The moody guardsman nodded and stepped out into the corridor beyond, and for the first time Colin thought that perhaps the tension he’d felt from Lotaern and the guards of the Order of the Flame came from something other than the strained relationship the Chosen and he maintained.
The Chosen turned back.“Follow me.Vaeren will escort us to the top of the temple. There’s something I need to show you.”
Colin hesitated only a moment, suddenly uncertain and uneasy. He retrieved his satchel, removed a swath of finely made chain mail, the links so small it was nearly cloth, wrapped the wooden knife in the metal folds, and tucked it away.
Vaeren and the other guard were waiting in the outer corridor and began moving as soon as Colin appeared. Members of the Order of the Flame stepped out of their path as they wound through the corridors, climbing stairs until they’d reached the main level of the temple of Aielan that stood in the center of Caercaern. The groups of Flame fell away, replaced by the scurrying acolytes in training in the temple, and still they ascended flight after flight of stairs, passing through corridors that Colin had never seen even during his years of study.The members of the Flame looked apprehensive, but the acolytes merely appeared curious.
“Where are we going? What is it that I need to see?”
“Wait,” Lotaern said. “We’re almost there.”
The wide stairs leveled out, a set of doors at the far end of a narrow hall. Vaeren outpaced them, reaching the doors with enough time to open them just as they arrived at the threshold. A gust of frigid air, tasting of winter and the snows of the mountains, blasted through the opening and bit into Colin’s skin, passing through his robes as if he were naked, and then he followed Lotaern out onto the roof of the temple into the darkness of night. The Chosen didn’t pause, moving across the stone roof toward the building’s edge,
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