The Consuls of the Vicariate Read Free

of him,” she said, turning and walking to the door. “You know, it doesn’t seem real. I keep telling myself that he’ll come back, that he’ll come through the door and give me a big hug, but he won’t—he can’t. Take care of my da, Lae.”
    Once Valyrie was gone, Laedron gazed into the wooden box and sighed. How many more innocents will lie dead by the time we’re done? Far too many. He walked to the dilapidated stone altar, placed his tome upon it, and flipped through the pages. Thankfully, he’d become so skilled at reading Zyvdredi texts that he no longer needed the book Mathias had given him. Though he still had trouble with a few of the less common words, he could derive their meanings without the need of a manual.
    He held his scepter above the crate and chanted slowly. Black wisps dripped from the ruby at the tip of the rod down to Pembry’s body. The wisps danced and coiled freely through the air like ink dropped into a pool of water. He held it until only ashes remained. He gathered Pembry’s ashes into a bronze urn, then moved the crate to the floor. He carefully placed the urn at the center of the stone slab where the coffin had been and took his spell book from the altar. After one last glance at the urn, he returned upstairs.
    When he reached the hallway, he noticed the door to Valyrie’s room was closed, and he prayed silently for the Creator to watch over her and guide her during her time of mourning. Remembering how he felt when Ismerelda had been killed, he decided to leave Valyrie be. He could only imagine how it must’ve felt to see her father killed before her very eyes—a feeling which likely would not have been matched even if they had been tortured by Piers and his men.
    “Might I have a word?” Brice asked, snapping Laedron out of his thoughts.
    Brice led Laedron into his room, then closed the door behind them. “I wanted to ask if you would mind if I trained with Caleb?”
    Laedron raised an eyebrow. “Training?”
    “Well, I’ve been thinking about things. I’m not as big as Marac, and I’m not as smart as you—”
    “Don’t put yourself down.”
    Brice grinned. “I just want to make the most of my abilities, you see? I helped my parents in the loom, and I’ve always been handy with a needle. Such work takes nimbleness and precision.”
    “So… Caleb is a tailor?”
    “No, not at all.” Brice sighed, seeming frustrated. “I saw him practicing with locks a little while ago, and he showed me some of the basics. I was thinking maybe I could learn from him. Maybe that would be a useful skill to have.”
    Laedron smiled. “Useful indeed. Very well, but don’t forget to practice your swordsmanship, too. We must always be ready for a fight.”
    Opening the door, Brice bobbed his head. “Thanks.”
    “Get some rest,” Laedron said on his way through the door. “Tomorrow will come sooner than we expect.”
    Joining Marac in the common room, Laedron took a seat at the table, put down his spell book, and sipped from the cup he had been given earlier. “How do you feel about all this?”
    Marac looked up from sharpening his sword. “Dangerous, but isn’t everything we do?”
    “Perhaps.” The glints of candlelight on the blade drew Laedron’s eye. “It would seem we will be splitting up for a while. Jurgen and Valyrie, Brice and Caleb, and you and me.”
    “Brice and who?” Marac was busy sharpening again.
    “Piers’s man, the one I punched.”
    “Ah, what’s the thimble doing with him?”
    Laedron took another sip. “Learning of lock picking.”
    “At least he’ll be making himself useful.” Marac held up the sword and inspected the edge. “About time.”
    “Why are you so hard on him?”
    “He’s soft.” Marac put the weapon on the table and took a swig from a cup. “He hasn’t had a hard day’s work in his entire life, and it shows.”
    “Neither have I. Does it show in me, too?”
    “It’s different with you, Lae. Your ma taught you to be