The tolling of the morning bell broke Til from the spinning spokes of his thoughts. When had it gotten so early—or late, rather. Til might have tried to pretend to sleep for a while longer, but bells meant he could start his day with a hot breakfast.

  And though he may not be starting it well-rested, he can at least start it better with breakfast.

  Til knew if he left soon, he wouldn’t get the sweetbreads that would be in the massive ovens, but instead get first a more sought-after prize: bacon and other meats that were swiftly decimated by others in the castle.

  The sweet allure of a rare, savory treat quickly set Til’s mind. He dressed quickly before heading toward the heated heart of the castle. With any luck, Til could eat without interruption and at his leisure.

  The others awake at this hour, those already working or those deeply entrenched in prayer.

  Upon entering the small, warm, and misty dining area, Til’s eyes are immediately drawn to the heaping trays of food. Steaming hot meats in various forms, including many that Til had never dared to try, eggs in a dozen forms, and sweet things sitting next to the remaining rolls from dinner the night before.

  A quick glance around reveals that Til is totally alone.

  He can eat in peace for once.

  After piling his plate with bacon, eggs, and a few choice rolls that weren’t too stale, Til finds a place to sit in a recessed section. The kitchen is the next room over, and the grand fireplaces they use for cooking separate the two rooms. Leaving this room as stiflingly hot as the next. It also makes recesses to duck away and eat for those who manage to find a place. He can’t see the door from here, but no one at the door can see him, and he’ll be able to take off his helmet to eat.

  He rarely does, usually even one other person being enough for him to keep it firmly on his head. But just this once, he’s willing to take the risk.

  He knows he might have to put it back on in a moment; a part of him balks at removing it in the light of day. It takes Til more than a moment to lift his hands to remove it. His hands hesitate without his approval as he lifts his helmet above his eyes, blinking at the brightness of the room, at how much more he can see.

  With the utmost reverence, Til sets the helmet across from him at the table.

  It is him, after all.

  Well, not him. Not really, but it’s as good as his face. It’s all that anyone here knows him as.

  Looking at him, they see the smooth metal, a reflection of themselves.

  He doesn’t look at his own reflection. He averted his gaze even though he knew he couldn’t parcel out his true face from the scattered reflections.

  The helmet is him; it is also the face of all the other knights and is Honored within the kingdom. It is the way of the Honored that they never show their face, not even to themselves. He’d heard once it was to keep them honest; if they didn’t know one from another, they would be forced to all behave; after all, anything that allows them to stand out to the masses keeps them from being part of a unified force. Something which went against their code.

  Til disapproved of how the others modified their armor; his armor wasn’t perfect, though he was an accident. The way Til differs from the others is the line of gouges he’d nearly buffered out near the bottom. It results in the uncanny look of a beast's teeth near where it rests over his jaw.

  It could be anyone under that helmet, and that’s why it’s important to him that it’s him. In spite of others who wear the armor, Til is the only one under that helmet.

  Shaking his head, Til focuses on the food before him, a welcome—and hot—distraction from his thoughts. Shoveling the food into his mouth is all he can manage, table manners forgotten in a moment of weakness.

  Of course, it’s only when his mouth and hands are full, his helmet across from him, that the door swings open.

  Someone’s coming.

  Dropping his utensils and thanking every entity he can think of for his forethought, Til rushes to shove his helmet over his head. His mouth, too full to chew, let alone speak, is the only reason he doesn’t berate himself for his moment of weakness.

  Chewing urgently, Til straightens his helmet, leaning to see who entered the room.

  Noan’s haggard form drudges past without even a glance in the Honored’s direction.

  Til didn’t think the other knew anyone else was in the room as his wavering form moved around the counter to the other to fill his plate. Piling it high with the oddities that grace the counters, which Til has never braved eating.

  If it surprises Noan to find the Honored sitting there, watching him, he didn’t show it. He even manages to surprise Til by choosing to sit with him.

  Though sitting is too kind a word for how Noan drops his plate before falling into the chair like a sack of potatoes. The blond man’s gaze rests just to the side of Til’s plate before Noan cocks his head, cracking his neck audibly and closing his eyes.

  Gesturing at Til with his jaw, Noan speaks slowly, his voice barely more than a rasp, “If you wanted- I wouldn’t look.”

  Eyebrows raising under the heavy helmet, Til didn’t think it possible Noan could be suggesting what he thought. He waits to see if the Wizard will clarify.

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  “If you wanted to eat in peace, take that thing off for a few minutes. I wouldn’t look.”

  Til can only shake his head. Even if he’s sure the other wouldn’t rat him out, he will not break the vows for a simple meal.

  He takes his place as Honored seriously; he needs- well, he couldn’t break the vows.

  The King always knew when someone broke the vows. Even if it was while they were alone.

  Til has so much more he needs to achieve. Much more on the table for him than the promise of reward for the Kingsguard. He can’t risk it all, not when he’s come so far.

  Noan sinks lower into his seat, nodding to accept the silent response he hadn’t even looked up for. Hovering over his food, he practically inhales the portions he’d taken for himself, his fork seemingly barely part of the process.

  Though it can’t be the most comfortable silence that fell over the two tired men, Til relaxes into it. He rarely crosses paths with the King’s Wizard, and he’s never before simply sat with the other, certainly not going so far as to share a meal.

  “I felt it.” Til’s gaze jerks to Noan’s face, surprised at the break in the silence. “The way it changed. Magic. It’s hard to describe something that no one else can feel, can understand.”

  Til’s not sure what the Wizard’s talking about, but he waits, watching Noan’s face.

  “It’s like a silken shroud but finer than anything you or I will ever touch, lighter than the wind of a butterfly’s wings. And it moves like it’s alive. Like animals move, but it’s also like the wind in the trees. Or the roots of an ancient tree that have spread so much further than you could ever realize. It’s like you and me.” Noan suddenly looks up, his gaze so surely matching Til’s that he thinks for a moment he’s forgotten to put his helmet back on, “And sometimes, sometimes, there’s a tug. I thought I knew what it meant, the tugs. But I didn’t, I don’t. Or at least, I hope I don’t. I didn’t realize. I thought it was just children playing, that it wasn’t that bad, that they were just playing hide and seek with this cloth that we’re all woven into. And it moved in response, too; it got lighter and heavier in turn. I didn’t- I didn’t know what it meant.”

  Noan’s breath catches, and Til nearly reaches for him. He can’t, and he looks away again, pulling into himself and away from Til.

  “The King asked me to find out what was causing it, causing the change in the very fabric of magic. And I looked. I looked for such a long time in every way that I could. I looked everywhere. Trying to find who was making the ripples. But I couldn’t find it. Couldn’t find the kids. They’re Touched; I should be able to find them. But these kids, they’re going missing, and I can’t. They’re-”

  Noan chokes on the words, a half sob escaping him along with a lone tear.

  Til wants to help, but he isn’t sure how.

  “They’re gone from my sight. I don’t know how to find them. They’re just gone.” Til listens as Noan continues spilling his thoughts out, “The King gave me one task. And when I found some, they, too, were gone so soon. And when I found a small group, I was sure there was a chance, and when I told the King where the enclave was, he told me they’d be saved. But they’re not, they weren’t. Suddenly, they were gone from my sight as well. I looked for them, knowing what to look for, but they were just gone. I looked, and I looked. But they were gone, Til.”

  The use of his name shocks Til. He hadn’t realized the other even knew it. The use of it tells Til there’s more going on than he thinks, that the Wizard may know more than he’s letting on. Til focuses, really focuses on the blond man. This close, Til sees so much he hadn’t seen the night before. Now he can see the sallow look of his skin, the deep shadows beneath his eyes. The greasy, unwashed look of his hair and the glossy coat over his irritated eyes.

  He looks… Tired.

  “I’m- I can’t- I want to help these kids. I’ve tried, been trying to help them. I’m exhausted. I’m scared for these kids. Scared of what happened to them. What’s going to happen to them.” Noan rubs his hands over his eyes, likely trying to relieve the ache there.

  With more sureness in the Wizard than he can muster in his fellow knights, Til says, “You’re doing what you can. Just as whoever goes after the children will do what they can.”

  “You’re a good man, Til. A kind one.” Noan tells him, sounding more sure of Til than he did of himself. “Will you go out and search for the Touched children? Please? I know you can be trusted, that you’re honorable. Truly. Perhaps a little stuck up, but you do really care. I know you do. I know you’ll protect them.”

  Til tries to disagree, “I’m not that honorable. I’m just following the rules. I double that I would be the best person-”

  “You are. You follow all the rules, and you keep your helmet on while you eat. You ensure every task is not only done right but just as it should be, and you help others, even when you don’t have to. Even when it wouldn’t help you to do so. You’re a beacon among the Honored and the knights. You’re going to be Kingsguard one day. But you do so much good now. You really do. I’ll miss you when you’re Kingsguard.” Looking at the table, Noan shakes his head softly, his words barely audible, “I’ll miss a lot of things when you’re Kingsguard.”

  Til pauses; he knows that Kinsguard rarely interacts with, well, anyone but the King. Those in the castle lived in the King’s tower, everything taken care of for them. When they weren’t shadowing the King or resting, they were traveling to do the King’s bidding. Then they’d retire to the edges of the kingdom or other castellery.

  It seems hard to believe that Noan would miss their interactions. But admittedly, Til would too. Til think, maybe he can break the pattern the other Kingsguard have established. In spite of his desire, in spite of the fact that if he were Kingsguard, he could spend time with the Wizard. A feeling settles over him, making him think that he wouldn’t be the first to change that tradition.

  If Noan is right, and he was about to become Kingsguard, they wouldn’t have time in the interim.

  Til nods again. He can’t believe that he really might be so close to his goal, but he also can’t believe that Noan knew that it would happen soon.

  He’s been working on it for years.

  Then again, he’s felt so foggy lately, as if he’s just going through the motions.

  Maybe that’s what he’s supposed to feel?

  And Noan’s always at the King’s side; if anyone would know, it’d be him.

  But is this something he can do? That he’d want to do? Why did Noan believe in him so? “Do you really think that I’ll be able to help the children? I mean, I haven’t really spent any time with, well, any.”

  “That doesn’t matter. You’d take care of them, keep them safe. I know you would.” Noan’s voice rasps, but the iron certainty below it summons goosebumps over Til’s flesh.

  Is he really sure about this? Not at all. But with someone who believes in him with such certainty, it’s hard to avoid getting caught up in the feeling.

  “Then, I guess I’ll just have to do what I can.” Til clears his throat, catching the way Noan sways, “And what I can do now is tell you to go rest. You’ve eaten; it’s still early enough that people will be sleeping. The King said he would wait to call the next session. You’ve done enough, Noan. You need all the rest you can get.”

  Noan nods, then nods again. With an unsteady movement, he rises to stand once more. Leaving his plate on the table, he turns back, looking at Til. “You’ll do it, Til? You’ll- Please. Please tell me you’ll go out there and help the children. Even if it’s the last thing you do. Please tell me you’ll help them even if it’s the last thing you ever do?”

  Til’s once again struck by the man’s sudden insistence, but chalks it up to exhaustion and worry for the children, promising him, “I will. I’ll do anything I need to to protect the children, to save them."

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