Varilla slid out of bed, her feet touching the sandstone floor. She stretched, the morning sunlight touching her face, which made her frown. She went about her morning routine, dawning her black robes, fixing her hair and face, and taking up the staff WyrmMaw. She made her way from her rooms, leaving Masus to sleep in and down to her study, where correspondence from the night was waiting. She glanced through it, missives from their network of traders, and the small but growing network of spies.

  The war in Raakonia was coming to a head, with news that a great battle was going to occur at some point. Likely, by now, the news in front of her stale, she wondered who won. She hoped both sides died, but if she had to pick, she hoped the Holstamp Tomas lost. She never liked him and hated their house. The litany of transgressions of the Holstamp Tomas was daunting. They seemed to be a house of wholly treacherous, greedy people, bent on conquest and blood. Alain had died by her hand, and the emperor had robbed her of vengeance to kill Ward for Peela’s death. In either case, the imperial war didn’t matter. They could kill each other all day until there were none left for all she cared. Except Eruch of course.

  She forced the man from her mind. She would not think about him today. It was the same thing she told herself, day in, and day out. It was time to move on. Masus deserved that. She deserved that. As much as he occupied her thoughts, she had to have a day where she didn’t think about him. he had decided that Raakonia was more appealing. She knew he was enraptured with the promise of his lineage, the son of a famed general, who, if she was being honest with herself, didn’t strike her as that famous. Richard Aragon was the dragon’s war, leader, and Nathanial Decker was often mentioned far later in their tales, usually as ‘a stoic but calculating general’. She wasn’t sure that was actually a compliment, having been called stoic derisively most of her life.

  Nonetheless it had enamored Eruch. She understood why. He had no roots and having been shipped off to Anoria to be raised by militant sword, swingers that seemingly, were semi, monastic, it was no wonder his childhood did him no favors being raised by Anoram Blademasters. The wastes had given him no comfort, bouncing from one adventure, town, woman, and horse to another; the empire offered him a chance at stability. She understood, but sorely resented it. Why wasn’t she stability enough? Why wasn’t the Bulvi worth fighting for more than Raakonia? Eruch had been instrumental in placing her into her position, only to walk away and fight a war he had no business fighting.

  She had supported him as he wanted to find himself and explore his past. Only to be cast aside when she came inconvenient in her truths. The thought maddened her, and she could feel the same resentment, the same anger she felt every morning rising up once again. She wanted to throttle the man, and yet, she knew if he walked into her study in this very moment, she would likely be powerless to resist him.

  The doors to her study opened, and Briel entered, still somewhat waddling, as Varilla felt her heart skip an entire beat in surprise.

  “You’re up early.” Varilla said, calming her tone.

  Briel shrugged and sat down. “Sleeping is getting harder.”

  “I remember those nights.”

  “Tell me they end?”

  Varilla chuckled softly. “Not until it’s out of you.”

  Briel shook her head and sighed.

  “What do you need?” Varilla said and folded her hands in front of her.

  “I can’t just come and chat?”

  “You can, but you would have summoned me for a casual chat. You come to me, this early, because you feel bad for whatever you’re going to ask of me. Don’t. I am here to serve.”

  Briel smiled kindly. “Reevas, you know me.”

  “I do.” She smiled genuinely. “You are the closest I have to a sister now Peela is gone.”

  Briel smiled acknowledgement at the high praise and nodded gently. “And you to me.”

  “Now. What do you want?” Varilla chuckled.

  “Another mission for you now that the Society is behind us.” She sighed. “I’d do it but traveling right now is a bit hard for me.”

  “Where to now?”

  Briel made a face, and sighed. “Salt.”

  Varilla returned the same face, frowning. “Salt?” She sighed.

  “Unfortunately, yes. The Chieftain of the Curn has passed, and we need a representative at his funeral rites. I’d like you to go in my stead. Hakuun is dealing with the walls collapsing at Dovahome. It’s been a mess. Shemli is dealing with another matter for me.” She sighed. “I hate not being able to go. It’s just damn uncomfortable.”

  “I remember.” Varilla said. “As much as it pains me, I’ll go to Salt. Reevas save me, it is so far away.”

  “Western edge of our land. Only worthwhile port we have, which is the other reason I want you to go.”

  Varilla inclined an eyebrow.

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  “I want you to take some of the elven wealth. We need to start building more ships. Give it to the new Chieftain with my blessing. Tell him within two winters, I want at least a handful of decent size ships.”

  “For trade?”

  Briel nodded. “Yes. Stegobas. Braid. Even perhaps Raakonia one day. Don’t know what we’ll sell at market, but we need to look beyond just fishing out of Salt.”

  “I’ll see it done.” Varilla sighed. “Been over a decade and a half since I’ve been there.”

  “You’re from the Salted Plains, yes? Not far from Salt?”

  Varilla nodded. “Yes, barely.”

  “A decade and a half?” Briel thought for a moment. “How old were you when you left? Ten winters?”

  Varilla shook her head. “A little older. This past winter was twenty, eight for me. I left the salt plains when Peela and I were twelve.”

  Briel smiled gently at the mention of her sister’s name. It had only been in the last year that she could speak openly about her without her face growing stiff and dark. “Why did you leave?”

  Varilla sighed and smiled ruefully. “Our village was not amenable to having a pair of witches. They considered it a bad omen. We already had a crone, and when our powers manifested, they saw fit to drive us away.”

  “Your parents?”

  Varilla shook her head. “We never knew our father. Mother said he was a brave, killed when we were young by the Imperials. I have often wondered if that’s what she told us because it sounded like the right thing to say. She was cagey about such things. I am not entirely sure what tribe I hail from, although it’s likely Curn or Gant. She, at different points in her life, said different things. She drank a fair amount. Mother passed when we were both eleven, not long before the village elders saw fit to drive us away.” Varilla said, and then realized she had spoken at length, and shrugged. She was comfortable with Briel. One of the few people in the world she was comfortable with.

  “Terrible our people did that.” Briel said, shaking her head.

  Varilla shrugged. “Peela and I were destined to wander. Our village was small, it’s mind narrow. It was a blessing.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Wandered. A whole lot of wandering. Not many places want a pair of witches. Dustfolk caravans. Spent some time with a Skyfire Caller. He was something. Even spent some time apart. As we grew older, more time apart. Peela was always off on some manner of adventure or trouble.” Varilla said, shaking her head with a tired smile.

  “And all that led up to the Sigil of Rytar.”

  Varilla nodded. “Which leads us too today. And a very pregnant Bulvi telling me I have to go across our country to Salt, a place that is perhaps one of the dirtiest places in all the wastes.” She said as she smiled.

  “I know. Very pregnant is right, and Salt is dirty. Maybe talk to the new Chieftain about that as well.” Briel laughed.

  “My Bulvi’s will, I am to conduct.” Varilla said, shaking her head and chuckling.

  “Will Masus accompany you?” Briel asked, a curl to her lip.

  “I imagine so.” Varilla responded, but Briel could see some reticence in her eyes. As Bulvi she was in charge of the Val E Naa, and with that, their spiritual health, as much as their safety and progress. Varilla was also the closest person she had in her entire life, even more so than her husband. She sighed, smiling ruefully, as it was time for the conversation.

  “If he returned. Would you, “

  “Take him back?” Varilla ended her sentence tersely.

  Briel nodded.

  “No.” Varilla said even though she didn’t believe it.

  “Then perhaps give Masus a real chance?” Briel responded, even though she knew likely, she wouldn’t. She wanted her too, though. Masus was her cousin, come from the village, and was a good man. As Bulvi her role, besides the leadership of the Val E Naa was to stand as Reevas incarnate in the world, and to see to the spiritual health of the wastes. Varilla, locked in an eternal struggle with herself on whether or not to wait for Eruch, chaotic and capricious as was, was not healthy for her, or her children.

  “I don’t mean to sound terribly mean, but he is my cousin.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Briel leaned forward, grimacing softly at her uncomfortable belly. “He’s a young man, and while a bit younger than you, he deserves a chance at a life. A wife, children. If that’s not what you want with him.”

  “I know.” Varilla said, her tone sharp, and then she adjusted it. “I know. It’s been long enough. He isn’t coming back.”

  “Likely not.” Briel said sadly, but in truth she wasn’t sure she wanted him to.

  “Why wasn’t I good enough?” Varilla said, in a rare moment of vulnerability. The flash of anger, and her morning ritual of self, reflection nagged at her.

  Briel smiled softly. She had gone over in her mind since Varilla had returned on what to say in this moment. She prayed to Reevas that it was correct.

  “No. You were good enough. He was not good enough for you, or for us. He fought a battle in his heart between here, and there. The greedy side of his heart won. That was not the Eruch you or I fought alongside with, that we both loved so dearly. They twisted him, and he was not strong enough to resist their temptations. That is not failing of us, of you, it is only the failing of himself. He chose to stray from the Chasos path. That is not our failing, it is his.”

  “Then why do I still think of him, every day, and why am I so bitter.” Varilla said, shaking her head.

  “What you can desire, you can forsake.” Briel said.

  “The theses of sacrifice.”

  Briel nodded. “A lesson in many things, in this one in particular. Consider on this trip to Salt, letting him go. Don’t take Masus. Leave Voleon and Cordan with me. Go and use this time to think about what you want, and you alone.”

  “What you can conceive, you can do.” Varilla said dryly.

  Briel stood, smiling softly. “Theses of courage. I know you have it. use the time Varilla, please.” She left the Archmagus to her thoughts and walked out to a nearby balcony overlooking Reeva. She had done what the dragon had done, rebuilt her capitol after an enemy destroyed it. Where he had rebuilt exactly the same as it had been, she didn’t cling to the past. She was different from the other Bulvi, forward thinking meant to see her people healed and whole.

  It pained her to think Varilla could not move on from him. She had loved Eruch as well, trusted him, but as time passed, and his absence grew longer and longer she grew a strong distaste for the man. The Val E Naa did not need capricious people. They needed braves, and workers, and the people of the wastes to unite on the Chasos path, and under her guidance as Bulvi. Eruch had decided that he wished to be imperial. He had forsaken them, and then when confronted with the desperate love of Varilla, he had turned his head away and affirmed his choice among the empire. She had little tolerance for such capriciousness. The fate of the Val E Naa hinged on those who would dedicate themselves fully and truly to the cause.

  Varilla always teetered on that edge. In some aspects she had done amazing things for the wastes. She had delivered the Society of Magic. She had returned when Eruch stayed. Yet, even now, her eyes looked north, waiting for him to return; when Masus was right here, ready for her. The Val E Naa had enough of divided loyalties. She resolved then to do her best to assure that Varilla would her choice, the right choice, for all the Val E Naa.