“Minstrel,” he repeats, slowly. “Rakos, do you not know who that is?” It’s Rakos’s turn to stare in confusion. “Of course? He’s…” A minstrel who never sings. A traveler who can’t ride more than a few days in a row. A sweet, fragile young man with one of the most powerful magical talents Rakos has ever encountered. Silaisan. The love of his life, and Rakos doesn’t even know his family name. Vana braces himself against the back of the stone chair, as if he needs it to stay upright. “Rakos, that wasn’t a minstrel. That was Bellamy Sandry.”
