“Oh? Somehow I had gotten the impression that you Heralds always knew what was happening in each others’ lives.”

Kris really hadn’t been able to think of a response to that; at least not a respectful one.

“I only asked because I thought she looked a bit care-worn, and I thought perhaps she might have said something to you,” Orthallen continued, his cold eyes boring into Kris’. “She has a heavy burden of responsibility for one so young.”

“She’s equal to it, Uncle. I’ve told you that before. Rolan wouldn’t have Chosen her otherwise.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re correct,” Orthallen replied, sounding as if he meant the opposite. “Those rumors of her using her Gift to manipulate—”

“Were absolutely unfounded. I told you that. She has been so circumspect in even reading others that she practically has to be forced to it—” Kris broke off, wondering if he was saying too much.

“Ah,” Orthallen said after a moment. “That is a comfort. The child seems to have a wisdom out of keeping with her years. However, if she should feel she’s having problems, I would appreciate it if you’d tell me. After all, as the Queen’s eldest Councillor, I should be aware of possible trouble. I’d be only to happy to help her in any way I can, but she still seems to be carrying over that grudge from her student days, and I doubt she’d ever give me the correct time of day, much less confide in me.”

Kris had mumbled something noncommittal, and his uncle had gone away outwardly satisfied—but the whole encounter had left a very bad taste in Kris’s mouth. He was regretting now the fact that he’d confided to his uncle in one of those early conversations his belief that Talia and Dirk were lifebonded; the man had seized on the tidbit as avidly as a hawk on a mouse. But at the same time, he didn’t want to have to face Talia herself with these suspicions awakened; she’d get it out of him, no doubt of it. And while she wouldn’t say, “I told you so,” she had a particular look of lowered eyelids and a quirk at one corner of her mouth that spoke volumes, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with it.

Besides, it was only too possible that she’d infected him with her paranoia.

If only he could be sure of that—but he couldn’t. So he avoided her.

Dirk straddled an old, worn chair in his room, staring into the darkness beyond the windowpane. It was nearly dusk—and as black as midnight out there. He felt as if he were being torn into little bits.