“But you said - ”

Seri, I’m in the garden. Is it safe to come in?

The voice wasn’t Tennice’s at all. “In the garden… of course… Yes, of course, come in! It’s just Tennice here with me.”

Tennice looked up this time, his puzzlement quickly erased. “He’s here again so soon?”

Twice in two days? Unheard of. Perhaps the time for closing the Circle had come sooner than expected. I hurried to the garden door to welcome him, not daring to hope that this visit meant a longer stay. To my surprise, Karon wasn’t alone.

Awkwardly I folded my arms in front of me instead of wrapping them around him. “Come in, please. It’s a fine night for company.” A slender, light-haired young man followed us through the back passage.

As soon as we reached the sitting room, Karon nodded formally to me and then to the young man, one hand extended toward each of us. “Madam, may I introduce Radele, son of Men’Thor yn Ustele? Radele, this is my wife, Lady Seriana Marguerite of Leire and our friend, Tennice de Salviet.” Karon then dropped his hands and clasped them behind his back. “I’ve brought Radele to stand guard here as I’ve said for so long I would.”

“Stand guard… has something happened?” I asked. Ever since our Dar’Nethi friend Kellea had returned to the village of Dunfarrie the previous year, Karon had wanted to bring in a Dar’Nethi to protect Gerick and the rest of us in ways only a sorcerer could do. He’d kept putting it off, saying he wanted to find someone he knew well enough to entrust with such a mission. Strange that he hadn’t mentioned a word of this last night. “Have you given the signal already? The war - ”

“I just found the right person, someone willing to take on an exceptionally important duty, where he’ll most likely never need to lift a finger.” Karon moved across the room to the sideboard, where he began pouring wine. “We’ll assume he’ll acquire no glory here.”

I stared for a moment at his back as if an explanation might be scribed in the silver embroidery adorning his black doublet. Able to read nothing in Karon’s posture, I switched my scrutiny to the newcomer. “Welcome to Verdillon, sir. As my husband says, may you have no occasion to find glory at arms here.”

The young man made a graceful bow. “I’m a glory-shirker, madam,” he said. “Never have decided what rhyme the Singers would put with my name: meal, deal, seal. Very unwarlike, ineloquent rhymes.”

The young Dar’Nethi’s face was pleasant and open, his fair beard and mustache neatly trimmed. Pale brows and lashes framed eyes of the usual Dar’Nethi blue that sparkled with good humor. But why in the name of sense would Karon choose the kinsman of Men’Thor and Ustele, who in four long years had shown him nothing but hostility?

Tennice excused himself, saying he would summon Gerick and inform Teriza we had guests. Radele accepted a seat on the long couch near the hearth, but Karon remained on the far side of the room, leaning against the sideboard. He seemed exceptionally subdued, especially in contrast to his animation of the previous night. The hospitality of the evening was clearly left to me.

I took a seat beside Radele. “So are you a poet, sir, knowing so much of rhyming?”

“No poet, my lady, certainly not. My mentor was forever berating me for my lack of memory, and offered constant suggestions for my improvement, including setting important reminders into verse… ” With much animation, Radele began a long story of a rhyming spell he’d made as a boy. “… though he at last gave in, for the winter was bitter cold in the western Vales that year. But the master never could wear the hat without breaking into tears at the memory of his cat.”

I could not stop laughing at his tale. Even so few moments’ conversation revealed Radele to be as charming in manner as in appearance, entirely unlike Karon’s reports of his dour father and grandfather. The young Dar’Nethi promised to be a delightful addition to our household.

The young man’s good humor was going to be a necessity, of course. Gerick wasn’t going to like having a Dar’Nethi bodyguard. Not at all.

As I was still smiling at Radele’s story, Gerick hurtled down the stairs, stopping in the foyer to run his fingers through his hair and pull a tight, rust-colored jacket over his beige cambric shirt. Then he stepped into the sitting room, bowing first to Karon and then to me. “Good evening, my lord. Mother.”

Karon nodded to Gerick without speaking and took another sip of his wine.

Radele rose from the couch. Sober, expressionless, Gerick stood waiting by the door, looking first to his father and then to the visitor. Lest the awkward silence grow lengthier, I took up the introductions. “Gerick, may I present Radele yn Men’Thor yn Ustele? Your father has brought him to stay with us for a while. Radele, this is our son, Gerick yn D’Natheil.” Dar’Nethi conventions included paternity only through living forebears, else Gerick’s lineage would have been a bit more complicated.

“My lord.” Radele bowed, his palms extended in the Dar’Nethi custom of greeting. I could find no fault with his respectful address or posture though neither seemed particularly warm. “A pleasure to meet you at last. I glimpsed you last night on your visit to the palace - your first, I think - but the Prince whisked you away before we could be introduced. Everyone in Avonar is anxious to make your acquaintance. I shall be the envy of the city.”

That everyone in Avonar was anxious about Gerick was no doubt true. But I didn’t think it had to do with making his acquaintance. Gerick was the Prince of Avonar’s son and successor, acknowledged by the Preceptorate of the Dar’Nethi. But that acknowledgment had occurred before Gerick had stepped into a spinning, man-high brass ring called an oculus and become the Fourth Lord of Zhev’Na. Despite Gerick’s subsequent repudiation of the Lords, I could not imagine that the Dar’Nethi loathing for the Three of Zhev’Na would ever permit Gerick to sit Avonar’s throne. But for the moment, Karon chose to proceed as if Gerick were his heir, saying that his own beliefs and deeds must stand as Gerick’s advocates with his people.

Gerick did not address Radele, just inclined his head in a minimal politeness and removed himself to the farthest chair available while still remaining in the same room with us.

To my relief, Tennice returned just then, followed by Paulo bringing a tray of refreshments from Teriza. Further introductions and greetings left Radele engaged with Tennice. As I showed the tall, skinny youth where to set the fragrant tea, cold ale, and plates of various sweets, fruit, and cheeses, I whispered. “Stay, Paulo. I think Gerick would appreciate it.”

“If you say, ma’am” - he kept his voice low as I had done - “but I’m not dressed for company.”

I tugged at the red scarf he wore tied around his neck over his well-worn russet shirt and work breeches. “You very well know that you are welcome in our house at any time whether you’re wearing a loincloth or a ball gown.” He grinned and snatched a jam tart.

The dusting of freckles across Paulo’s thin, ever-sunburned face was almost the only reminder of the lame, illiterate boy from Dunfarrie that fate had embroiled in our adventures six years ago. Karon had healed his twisted body, and in return the shy youth had saved Gerick’s soul. His lanky frame now towered over Gerick and me. Paulo had turned eighteen this summer, a young man now.

As I had anticipated, Paulo gravitated to Gerick’s side, sitting on the floor beside Gerick’s chair and stretching his long legs across the tight-woven carpet. While Radele sat between Tennice and me, listening appreciatively to Tennice’s stories of growing up as the studious middle child between two rowdy brothers, the two youths munched on Teriza’s cakes and pastries. Gerick murmured a bit to Paulo, even extracted a smile and a few words from him, but he never smiled himself, and he made no effort to speak to any of the rest of us throughout the evening.