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smell of vomit and blood had not left his nose. The sequence of Julit Umeda’s death replayed itself before his eyes. From experience, he knew that in time the memory would fade. It would never disappear completely.
    The abbey master finally set his cup aside. “I have been mulling over a decision. Oddly, this morning’s event has made it easier to make.” He reached forward and gripped Vedas’s shoulder. “It is not impossible that someone will hold you responsible for the girl’s death. We have been lucky in the past, but we have never lost a Tomen recruit before. I do not want to see you get hurt. Therefore, you must leave the city.”
    Vedas nodded, unsurprised. Two months previously, Abse had been given the task of choosing Golna’s representative to Danoor, the decennial tournament between the world’s Black Suit and White Suit orders. For two months, he had pretended to weigh his options. All the while, Vedas had known he would be the one leaving.
    Typically, the prospect filled him with anxiety. He had not left Dareth Hlum since passing its borders as a child. He did not relish the prospect of travel with others, spending nights in close quarters. The fighting itself did not worry him—he knew his own strength—but he could not imagine the moments afterward. The congratulations. The tearful thanks. Most of all, he dreaded the speech the winner would be required to give.
    The fact of Julit Umeda’s death had temporarily rendered these concerns meaningless.
    The master’s smile did not reach his eyes. “I thought I might even go to the tournament, but this works out just as well. Congratulations. You will represent the city of Golna at Danoor on the eve of the half-millennium. It is a great honor, of course.”
    Vedas nodded again. The honor was lost on him.
    “Vedas.” Abse spoke the word as if it exhausted him. “You could show some appreciation. I take the task of choosing very seriously. There are many worthwhile candidates, and my choice need not come from this abbey. In fact, I would be wise to choose from another order. For political reasons, you see.”
    Vedas waited. The man’s chiding tone bothered him, but only slightly. Certainly, Vedas did not let it show. At thirty-four years old, having spent twenty-two years in the abbey, he had long since learned to control his emotions around the abbey master. Their interactions were routine, transparent. They were like father and son. The same waters of love and resentment flowed between them. The same fictions bound them.
    “To be exactly truthful,” the master said, as if his thoughts had lingered on the same ground, “I had not seriously considered going myself. Nor had I considered another. It is a hard journey from here to Knos Min, and that is only the beginning of the trial. Golna’s champion must be strong, body and soul.” He gestured with his hands to encompass the whole city. Another shallow smile. “Who else would I choose?”
    Vedas met the older man’s eyes. “And the girl’s death is a good excuse. Convenient.”
    Abse shook his head. “Its occurrence today makes it easier to rationalize sending you, but I would still prefer it had not happened. It is no minor thing, losing a recruit. A small fortune in bonedust will exchange hands as a consequence—a wage to the child’s parents, a fee for the funeral, and more than likely, a bribe to our local magistrate. We have an excellent record, but no one is above examination.
    “Making matters worse, of course, is the child’s lineage. Tomorrow, someone will have to visit her family and assist with the funerary rites according to custom. Of course, there is no guarantee that this will mollify the Tomen community, but to do otherwise is to invite a riot.”
    Vedas raised his eyebrows. “Someone?”
    “It will not be you. I will assign another person to the task—maybe two or three.”
    “I will go.”
    Abse sighed. “Do you know, I used to wish you would learn to see the world