It took until sunset—and two missed meals—for Aralt to catch up with Lian. The boy was casting stones into the fountain at the center of the topiary garden.

“It’s customary to throw coins.”

Lian whipped another stone across the water. It skipped once, twice, thrice before sinking. Aralt dipped into his pocket, weighing a few gems of the local currency before he selected a fragment of shale from the path instead and sent it skimming across the fountain. After the fifth skip it popped over the far side of the pool. The pebbles still in Lian’s hand dropped to the ground. A stiff kick sent a clod of dirt and stones flying.

“Lian…”

“I’m sorry. I keep doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Being stupid.”

Oh, that. “If you keep saying that, eventually you’re going to believe it. If you’re to be kavistra…”

“I can still be sorry. And I am, Aralt. I’m sorry I’m not the same as I was. I’m sorry I’m not whatever you expect I should be now. I’m sorry I brought all of this—” he waved too many fingers, “to your doorstep and now here, to the Alwynns. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Tycho.”

“That part is a lie.”

“Maybe. You don’t approve.”

Aralt would have bitten off his tongue before responding to that particular statement. Lian seemed to realize his words might be misconstrued, and he scrubbed at his face.

“You really don’t think that I…that he…that we… Aralt. Have I changed that much?”

“You’ve…changed,” was all he could manage. And so have I. He wondered if it was too late to begin again. Scanlin did not seem to think so. Nor Alira, nor Veryl. Why was it so hard for him? “Consider how secretive you were in Sylvan, how unpredictable. Since Tycho’s been here you’ve been more reckless than ever. Is that what you’ve learned from this man? How to be reckless?”

“I…no. No, Tycho isn’t the reckless one. I am.”

`When did that happen? Aralt wanted to know.

Lian’s answer whispered between two heartbeats. When no one was looking.

The boy sank down on the edge of the fountain, kicked off his unlaced boots, and swung his feet into the water. “Wherever I go, they’re going to follow, aren’t they?”

A fair assessment. “I don’t think so,” he lied.

“Now who’s lying?”

“Rude child.” He almost ruffled Lian’s hair. They both knew it. He sighed. “I suppose I could do better myself. I don’t do you any favors treating you like a child, do I?”

“I am a child,” Lian said, moving the water in circles around his feet. A laugh might have framed his words. “I’m Kynsei. You’ll be an old man before I even reach middle age.”

“Don’t push me into the grave yet,” Aralt told him, trying to make light of the truth. “I meant the child you were.”

“I don’t remember him,” Lian whispered.

Aralt sat, facing the opposite direction. The statues cast shadows on shadows. “I do.”

The surface of the water stilled.

“We were friends, when you were young.” When I was young.

“Aren’t we friends now?”

“We don’t seem to be doing a particularly good job of it. I don’t…I’m not…” Aralt tapped his palms on his knees. He told himself not to change the subject. Not now. Not now. He did it anyway. “I don’t know what to expect going forward. Understand that for a soldier, that’s a detriment. I don’t know because I don’t know what lonn Tirehl wants. From you or from me.” His focus had been on finding Lian, not chasing ghost ships into the Sea of Bones. Rumor had it, the man had perished in the western desert.

“You know where he is.”

“Do I?”

“As well as I do,” Lian said.

Cryptic, that reply. “The Sea of Bones?” he guessed.

“Just so.”

Wicked territory. For a wicked man. “But you got away. He could have killed you before, but he didn’t.”

Lian leaned forward and kicked harder, churning the water.

“I don’t suppose you want to explain—”

“No.”

No surprise there. He scooped up a handful of rocks and let them drop one by one. The lamplighter was making her rounds, whistling a cheery tune. She looked surprised to see them but went about her business with practiced ease. The garden warmed under the soft glow.

When they were alone again, he said, “We don’t want to give him—or his followers—further opportunity to harm you. That’s one of the reasons I brought you here. Strategically, Alwynn-Muir has defenses Tyrian lacks. And they’re as much a part of Askierran as they are a part of the Northern Alliance. They’ll protect you, were you to remain here—as assist you in establishing yourself. Other northern domains would be swearing fealty to Askierran by the end of the year. Most of the surrounding domains would be in accord. There are advantages to the arrangement.”

“Would you stay?”

“We’ve covered this ground before. As I can. And as often.”

“Because of Alira?”

“Not only because of Alira,” he said. “And you’d do well to take her counsel.”

So would you. “How can you be so sure that staying here would be…right?”

“Experience,” he said. In reality, it was intuition, and he did not wish to think about the consequences if he was wrong. He put a handful of stones in Lian’s hand, listening to them skip and pop across the surface of the water. Each one went further than the last.

“I don’t want anyone else to be in danger.” Lian said, whipping one stone so hard to clattered against the far side of the fountain. “And…government? I don’t know the first thing about government. I don’t even know how the klesia kaeli is selected. Some of them are—were—older than Veryl and they never had much time for me. I was learning to be a healer, not a diplomat, and certainly not kavistra. I—”

“Lian Kynsei, I swear you work overtime to find something to agonize over. It isn’t as if you’re going to have to singlehandedly lead an entire country tomorrow. I can’t vouch for all the councilors and clergy that wield authority in Askierran this season, but your father and your brother relied on some fine people. Surely some of them will be honored to join you here.” The dissenters could stew in a pot of their own juices for all he cared. “It will fall to you to appoint new ones according to whatever the customs are. Like Scanlin.”

“And you?”

He sidestepped the notion. “Like Elon and Veryl. At least for as long as he can provide you good counsel. You can’t have better friends in this region. Even if you were alone, you aren’t without your own Gifts.” Lian had come a long way from the boy that hid in cupboards and didn’t speak after his father died. That slitherdog back in Bethulyn never really had a chance. Throwing sparks…

“Sometimes I still want to hide. To keep myself from…” Lian’s gaze dropped. Clearly, he was not proud of his strange abilities. “In our home, when I was young, we were taught that it is unseemly to have ability and no discipline. I tried to remember that…later. I thought that once I was with you again that I’d remember all those lessons. But I haven’t learned it. I’m afraid sometimes that I’ll never learn it. Worse, maybe I don’t want to.” He swiped the moisture from his eyes, obviously irritated by his own weakness. “Look at me. I can’t even talk about it without… Before he died, my father told me that the gift of healing rose from an ability to tap into the energy left over from creation itself. Imagine that, Aralt. Imagine all that flowing all around us, all the time. He was teaching me how. And I can do it, all right. But it’s all inside out. I find it easier to undo things than tidy them up.”

“If that’s so, then you need to learn restraint,” Aralt told him. Lian had always had a knack for touching the kyrrith anim. Divine light, blue as heaven. “It’s no different than sword training. Discipline comes with experience.”

“Experience?” Lian’s mirthless laugh fell into the night like the last stone into the fountain. “I should be an expert at something by now, but it probably wouldn’t be something my parents would have approved of.”

It rarely is. He picked up one last stone and sent it skimming across the surface of the water. Lian leaned against him, then away. At that moment, words were entirely inadequate.