James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

With a final grim glance at Wirr, she spun and strode from the room, her entourage trailing after her. Dras lingered a moment in the doorway, shooting Wirr a long, curious look before following the others.

They were escorted from the stadium by a couple of soldiers; once outside the men vanished, leaving Wirr, Davian, Taeris and Caeden facing the milling crowds once again. There was a moment of silence as they all looked at Wirr.

Wirr returned their looks levelly.

“I suppose we should go and find this inn,” he said.

Without anything further, he started off northward.

Davian exchanged glances with his other two companions, then sighed and set off after his friend.

Wirr had a lot of explaining to do.

The room was quiet.

Faintly from below, the boisterous sounds of laughter and men clapping to a musician’s beat filtered through the floorboards, but from within the room there was only an awkward silence. They had eaten their meal in the common room in a similar silence; with the patronage the inn was seeing this evening, it had not seemed prudent to discuss their situation until they could do so in private.

Finally Davian took a deep breath and turned to Wirr, recognising that his friend was not about to volunteer anything. “Well?”

Wirr looked at the floor, grimacing. “Well what?”

“Come on, Wirr!” Davian burst out in exasperation. “The princess knew you; she picked you out and you had a private conversation with her – at the end of which, she told us that there would be no help from her! I’ve been patient with you for a long time about your past, and especially so since the El-cursed sha’teth, but… I think we’re owed the truth now. We’ve come too long a way to have our plans fail like that without an explanation.”

Wirr shook his head, still staring at the floorboards as if he could see through them and was watching something in the room below. “I want to,” he said, desperation filling his voice, “ but I don’t know if it’s a good idea.” He looked up at Davian, his expression serious. “In fact, I’m fairly sure it’s not. Otherwise I would have told you earlier. Years ago, Dav. I swear it.”

Davian gaped at his friend. “I think the time for you deciding what’s best has passed, Wirr,” he said, his tone harder than he meant it to be. “Tell us, and we’ll decide for ourselves.”

Taeris, who had been watching Wirr closely, gently interjected. “Perhaps Caeden and I can go downstairs and get a drink,” he suggested.

Wirr thought for a few moments, then nodded, his face clearing. “If you’re thirsty anyway….”

“Parched.” Taeris looked at Caeden, inclining his head towards the door. “Shall we?”

Caeden followed Taeris out the door. When it was shut, Wirr allowed his shoulders to slump, and he sat heavily on one of the beds. “I’ve made some mistakes, Dav,” he admitted. “Perhaps one of them was not telling you the whole truth from the very start.” He gestured, a resigned motion. “Ask your questions, use your ability. I will answer everything, complete and honest.”

Davian felt some of his anger fade as he watched the forlorn figure of his friend. “Thank-you, Wirr,” he said quietly. He tapped his lips with a finger. “How do you know the princess?”

“She’s my cousin,” said Wirr, without a trace of humour.

Davian gave a disbelieving laugh, but his smile faded when Wirr’s expression didn’t change. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Despite his obviously downcast mood, the corners of Wirr’s mouth twitched upward as he watched Davian’s reaction.

Davian felt his brow furrow as he tried to grasp this information. “So… you’re….”

“Torin Wirrander Andras, son of Northwarden Elocien Andras. Third in line for the throne of Andarra, behind Karaliene and my father.”

Davian shook his head, dazed. Wirr had to be making a joke… and yet there had been no black smoke from his mouth.

He just looked at his friend in stunned silence for a few seconds, feeling as though he were really seeing him for the first time. Wirr had always had natural bearing and presence; suddenly that made sense, was put into context. His polite avoidances of potential romances at the school were him being cautious rather than picky. And the way he’d never wanted to talk about what the future held for him at the Tol…

“You were never going to Tol Athian,” realised Davian aloud, accusation in his voice.

Wirr shook his head. “I would have been taken to Ilin Illan separately, avoiding Athian altogether. I was meant to integrate into court life, keeping my abilities hidden. Ceasing all contact with the Tol and anyone associated with it.” He hesitated. "The thing is, Dav - wherever the Vessel that created the Tenets came from, it’s tied to the line of Tel’Andras. Tied to my bloodline. It was meant to be a way of ensuring that the Gifted would need to earn the trust of the royal family before the Tenets could be changed, but…."

Davian went cold as he processed the implications. He stared at Wirr in disbelief.

"You can change the Tenets? By yourself ?" he asked, voice little more than a whisper.

Wirr held up a hand. "Not yet - hopefully not for some time, to be honest. My father and uncle were the ones tied to it. When uncle dies, his connection will pass to Karaliene. And when my father dies, his will pass to me." He looked at Davian nervously. "So… you see why I didn’t tell you?"

"Yes. Fates, yes of course," said Davian, shaking his head. The burden of responsibility Wirr must have been living with, these past few years, was beyond anything Davian could imagine. He felt a chill run through him. “But if you remove the Tenets, wouldn’t it mean another war?”

Wirr shook his head. “I have no intention of annulling the Tenets - I want to amend them, so there’s a balance. Remember our discussion a couple of weeks ago? I’m not just Gifted, Dav. I’m my father’s son. He and my uncle both know about me; they’re the ones who put this plan into motion. The Treaty won’t continue to be a tool of oppression, but I’m not going to allow the Gifted the absolute power they once had, either.” Wirr’s tone was quiet, but laced with a heavy seriousness and certainty that Davian had never heard from his friend before.

He digested what Wirr had said in silence for a while, still reeling over the revelations.

"So… your father knows about you - sent you to Caladel," he said eventually. "But he created the Tenets. Does he really want you to alter them?" The idea went against everything he knew about the Northwarden. Davian knew not to put too much stock in rumours, but over the years, he’d heard so many about Elocien Andras that he’d assumed there had to be some truth to them.

Wirr hesitated. "Growing up, he hated the Gifted as much as anyone I’ve ever met," he conceded after a moment. "But when he found out I was one of them…." He shrugged, looking awkward. "I think it changed him. Changed the way he looks at us. He regrets making the Tenets the way they are, but he can’t do anything about it now - he’s already used his connection to the Vessel. That link can’t be used again until it passes to me."

Davian frowned; it was still difficult to imagine the Northwarden being sympathetic towards the Gifted, but Wirr wasn’t lying. "What about your uncle, then? If he’s in favour of this, why doesn’t he just find one of the Gifted and amend the Tenets himself?"

“He and my father may agree that the Tenets should be changed, but neither of them trust the Tols, either," admitted Wirr. "It’s the Gifted’s role to actually say the oath once the Vessel is activated - all it would take is for them to change my uncle’s wording on the spot, and there would be nothing anyone could do about it." He sighed. “I’m hoping he’ll use me when I return, to be honest. I was too young, had no control over my abilities when all this was explained to me. But now….”