Page 164 of Keeper of the Word
Tolvar snorted. “Stars help you that you did not wish to succeed.”
“We are no less committed to serving the House of Weslyn, m’lord.” Joss studied her feet.
“I have no doubt,” Tolvar said. “Stars, simply because I am alone does not mean the rest of you should be.”
“What about me, m’lord?” Gus guffawed. The others joined in the laughter, but Tolvar noticed that Elanna’s amusement was short-lived, laced with fatigue.
He regarded her in question, and she gave the slightest of headshakes. He nodded.
“Speaking of keeping secrets,” Barrett said. “Hux, you ne’er told us why you argued with Elanna’s brother that day in the corridor.”
“Aye!” Elanna echoed with curiosity. “You ne’er have said. And the way you spoke seemed to say you suspected Daved was one of the conspirators.”
“What?” Tolvar said.
“Nay.” Hux cracked a grin. “Nothing like that.” At her expression, he held up his hands. “Mayhap I did for a moment. But nay.”
“Well?” Joss demanded.
“Well, what?”
“Why did you argue?” Elanna half-shouted.
“I convinced him to help the prince escape.”
Everyone but Tolvar began speaking at once.
“Why did you not tell us!” Joss said.
“It did not seem important at the time!” Hux chuckled.
“It seemed not important to tell us that you were behind Dashiell’s escape?”
’Twas not a light topic, but after a moment’s chatter, the mood did lighten.
Even laughter followed.
Tolvar surveyed the others. Joss and Barrett met eyes before she gulped and reddened her cheek. She had no desire to be seen as incapable in her role as his second in command.
Tolvar took that as a signal to give his knights a moment to speak freely. Aye, his knights had become friends of sorts, but especially with Joss, there was still that line.
Besides, they’d had so few moments filled with matters other than distress, dashing, or doom. This moment felt significant to the group. And Tolvar did not wish to sour it for them.
His short walk had him leaning against a giant evergreen, surveying the field creatures of night.
Why the grim feeling?
The full moon hung in the sky, and Tolvar realized ’twas the Prodigal Moon, the same moon he’d prayed to one year ago in Deogol.
So much blood.
So much has occurred.
Tolvar removed Sloane’s prayer moon cuff from his pocket and gave the leather band a sniff. It no longer carried her scent.
“Oh Sloane,” he whispered, peering at the full moon. “My grief is long. I shall go to my grave lamenting for what could have been. For all the time we did not have.”
And the short time they had possessed had been afflicted with the Befallen. To save them, Sloane had sacrificed herself to it.
