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without
hesitation that she was the one to whom his life’s journey led.
    The fear that had caused her to recoil from
that painfully intimate link made Mithrais realize he would have to
move cautiously—in all aspects. Heartspeakers were too few in each
new generation to ignore any who spontaneously developed the gift,
Wood-born or not. Those he served were inexplicably concerned with
the bard’s welfare, and he was doubly reluctant to leave her side
until the reasons became clear.
    “Mithrais?” Telyn’s voice floated to him over
the jingle of harness and the soft fall of Bessa’s hooves on the
packed earth. She had been thoughtful and silent since they had
left the clearing that morning, and the warden now dropped back to
walk beside the wagon.
    “I have questions about what happened between
us this morning,” she said, her voice subdued. “Was it just
heartspeaking? Or did I do something that was...unwelcome?”
    “It was as if we became one,” Mithrais
answered quietly, and she nodded. He could see the conflict in her
expression, and waited for her to finish.
    Telyn finally blurted, embarrassed. “I didn’t
mean to intrude on your thoughts, and I certainly did not intend to
show you that I—”
    “It was not unwelcome, Telyn,” he stated
gravely. “Among heartspeakers, it is a rare thing to blend
consciousness so deeply. I know of very few who share this kind of
bond.”
    Mingled relief and confusion flashed across
her face. “I was afraid,” Telyn confessed softly, “that I had
caused it.” The pain in her eyes was apparent as she glanced away
toward Bessa. “The young lord’s accusation—the truth is I fear that
I was careless with my song magic that night, but I will never
know.”
    He understood more clearly that second of
breathless terror which he had sensed from the bard. “We Tauron are
taught to shield our minds against unwanted contact. It was my own
choice to open my mind to yours. There were no misunderstandings,”
he reassured her. The bard met his eyes.
    “None?” she questioned with an air of
hopefulness and an arched eyebrow. Mithrais could not suppress his
smile.
    “None,” he stated firmly. “Although perhaps
this subject should wait until I am not charged with your safety. I
have given my word to Aric that I would not be distracted.”
    The slow, shy smile on Telyn’s face was like
the sun rising, and as she returned to driving the mare with
renewed concentration, Mithrais grinned.
    Set on a hill rising ahead of them, against
the green-gold fields of new barley, emerged the walled keep of
Riordan, Lord of Rothvori. The interminable winter had finally
relaxed its grip, and as if in defiant recompense, spring had burst
forth in a flood of green shoots and early spring flowers in this
fertile valley. The village sprawled out before the walls like
spilled grain down the gentle slopes, and smoke was already thick
from the feasting fires. The faint sounds of a drum and flute
snaked their way across the fields, and Telyn sat up straighter,
listening.
    The thread of music seemed to kindle fire in
the bard and her excitement was infectious. Bessa snorted in
impatience, pulling at the reins.
    People had seen the wagon approaching and
were milling about, shouting and waving, running toward them. Telyn
grinned down at Mithrais, offering a hand to pull him into the
wagon with her. Mithrais hesitated only a moment, then vaulted onto
the bench beside her, stowing his weapons just in reach behind the
canvas flap.
    Telyn gave Bessa her head, urging her on, and
the mare increased her speed, trotting eagerly toward the town. The
first of the villagers had reached them and ran alongside, shouting
greetings. Telyn knew some of them by name, and called out to them.
A small girl perched on her father’s shoulders tossed a garland of
flowers, which landed at Mithrais’ feet. He picked it up and
crowned Telyn with the blue and gold blossoms of spring to the
delighted cheers of the