The Crux of Eternity: Eternal Dream, Book 1 (The Eternal Dream Saga)

by Lane Trompeter

  “Come now, Lucius, tell her the truth. That’s the only time you’ve ever caught me.”

  Even as he speaks, Torlas slides one hand out from under mine and throws a piece of chocolate high in the air, catching it cleanly in his mouth. Lucius’ eyes practically bug out of his head. He spins around, staring at a mound of sweets artfully arranged for dessert. One piece of chocolate is conspicuously absent from the perfect presentation like a brilliant mosaic missing a tile.

  “You rat!” Lucius growls, swatting Torlas on the back of the head as he swallows. Torlas chokes, coughing into his fist. “You deserve every bit of that, boy. Ruining my work.”

  “You have spares. I checked before I took one, you melodramatic ass,” Torlas says, still coughing slightly.

  “My lady Iliana,” Lucius says, cleanly ignoring Torlas. “Is there anything that you require?”

  “Well, Torlas, what do we require?”

  “We require,” Torlas says, mastering himself with a final cough. “Two glasses and a fine chilled wine.”

  “Very well,” Lucius says. “Now, Torlas, if you’d come with me to fetch it, that’d be marvelous.”

  Torlas follows Lucius out of the kitchen and down the stairs into the cellars. The kitchen workers continue about their business, though several surreptitious glances dart my way. The time idle gives me a moment to think. Father always tells me that the staff doesn’t matter, that they always change. From what Lucius said, though, he’s been here since before I was even born. Why wouldn’t my father want me to meet these people? Though mundane, they seem wonderful.

  The door to the cellars swing wide again, and Lucius walks out with his arm around Torlas, pulling him close. He whispers something fiercely in Torlas’ ear. I frown.

  “Nothing is going to happen!” Torlas exclaims, pushing the man away. “I don’t have a death wish.”

  “It had better not. Even your father couldn’t protect you from that kind of slip up.”

  Rolling his eyes, Torlas walks back to our table. He has a large glass bottle filled with a translucent wine. A glass appears from behind his back with a flourish.

  “Shall we retire to a more intimate setting?” he says, waggling his eyebrows in such an over-the-top salacious manner that he has to be kidding.

  “That sounds grand,” I say, taking my glass and following him.

  Several flights of stairs and hallways in the servant’s corridors later, he opens a door, seemingly at random. We come out into the lavish hallway where the royal apartments are located.

  “How do you know this palace better than I do?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

  “My dear little princess, while you were being tutored and forced to follow our fathers around, I was exploring this labyrinth of a castle. I made friends with the servants, and you would be absolutely shocked if you ever realized how much they know.”

  We stroll down the hall until we come to my room. My palms go suddenly clammy. Torlas, in my room? We’ve been friends since childhood, but I’m not so sure about a grown, eighteen-year-old Torlas in my chambers. I grab his hand and move us down a few doors to one of the unoccupied rooms. Somehow, that feels better.

  The only light in the room filters in through closed curtains. I throw the drapes open, smiling out at the night. The Stars of Donir dot the cityscape, glowing points amongst the velvet blackness of night. A near-full moon bathes everything in a gentle silver glow. Torlas stands beside me in the dark. He fumbles with the wine, finally wresting the cork from the neck and pouring a glass for us both. The wine is tart, but exquisitely sweet. Lucius, clearly, picked it.

  A smile bubbles up from deep in my heart. Inexplicably, I’m content. I’m drinking a dazzling wine and looking out on the stunning city of my home, perhaps my only true friend standing by my side. The parade, the assassin, Yrena’s tears, they all feel so far away, even though they happened in the morning. Tentatively, almost furtively, his hand comes to rest on the small of my back. I shiver, but I don’t push him away. His hand is cool from handling the chilled wine, and my skin is hot and hyperaware.

  “What a perfect view,” I say.

  “Indeed.”

  I glance at him, but he isn’t looking at the view. He’s staring at me, far too intently. His eyes are serious, focused, a gleam in them that never would have been there in the past. I sense more than see him begin to lean forward, his lips parted ever so slightly. A spike of adrenaline shoots through me, both fear and excitement warring for my attention.

  “Torlas,” I say, warning in my tone. “Can tonight just be... us? As friends? As we used to be? I’m not going to say we won’t ever have a future, but for tonight, please?”

  “Of course.”

  His expression clears and his hand falls away from my back. I fight a frown off of my face. The absence of his hand is even more pronounced than its presence. We drink for a while in silence. The darkness is inundated with thousands of shimmering lights, above and below. If I let my eyes unfocus, I can’t tell where the sky ends and the city begins. Eventually, I sigh, regretfully turning back to the darkness of the empty chamber.

  “Dinner will be served soon, and both of us will be missed, if we aren’t already,” I say.

  “Yes, we’d better get back. Just promise me something, okay?”

  “What?” I ask cautiously.

  “Find the time to live for yourself, not just for your father or your title.” Torlas’ smile doesn’t match the solemn fear in his eyes. “Your smile when you looked out at the city... that was a different smile from any I’ve seen lately. You relaxed, finally. Even the way you were standing changed. So, please, will you?”

  “I’ll try,” I say, unsure if it’s possible. Father told me that he has plans for me after this birthday.

  “No, damn it, Iliana, promise me.”

  He scowls, his face open and determined.

  “Fine, I promise,” I say, trying not to make it a lie. “Now, can we go?”

  “Yes,” he says, straightening his coat and holding out his arm. I hook mine through his as we stroll back toward the main stairs, avoiding the servants’ halls this time. “Yes, I’m satisfied. And I’ll hold you to it.”

  Chapter 4

  Bastian

  The Thirty-Fifth Day of Winter

  In the Year 5219, Council Reckoning

  The girl stands, wiping her mouth and smiling at me vacantly. I cock an eyebrow and lazily wave her away. I send her a gentle urge that she would rather be helping with the cooking downstairs. Her little blonde head nods at me and leaves, grinning the whole way. I sigh, content and somehow sad at the same time. She will be the last Donirian girl I have before we return to the Republic. Pretty, in an impoverished sort of way, but she isn’t exactly what I hoped for after the whirlwind trip this coronation has been. My final Donirian will be a serving girl in some nameless inn a few miles east of the Way of the North. The thought leaves me vaguely dissatisfied.

  Serving girls are the best. When you’re traveling, sometimes it’s hard to find just the right woman to share your bed. You never know who is married, or who is going to cling to you long after you want them to leave. It would be a simple thing for me to just find out, but that isn’t fun. Your typical passing beauty requires all sorts of mental energy to seduce. I’ve never been known to expend any more energy than necessary.

  Serving girls, though. With the barest flicker of a suggestion from me, they practically jump out of their clothes and line up for inspection. As this was my first trip into the Kingdom of the Sea, I made sure to sample as many different variations of the local cuisine as I could. Most of the women in Coin are dark-haired, olive-skinned, fiery hellcats. I find the Donirian women to be fairer, tamer, and far more pliant. I’m used to working for my meals, but the women of Donir practically offer me everything I ask for on a platter made of gold.

  The other diplomatic delegates and I stayed in the city long after the coronation of the princess. We left with trade agreements that the Kingdom would s
oon come to realize were in our favor, grossly so in fact. A small part of me feels guilty, especially because the Duke in charge of the negotiations seemed like an intelligent, savvy individual. If the bargaining had been real, we would probably have come off on even terms. Instead, the man never stood a chance. He might well lose his head considering how manifestly terrible the agreements are. Ah, well. As intelligent as he might be, this Paloran has served his purpose in enriching my kingdom.

  The only unanticipated event of the trip had been the princess herself. Meeting her was... fascinating. Defying her will, there in her stronghold, brought with it a heady and delicious sense of recklessness. When she stood in front of me and threatened my life, I could have practically hugged her. It’s been so long since I felt alive. The glass at my throat... the threat. I hold the tiny shard up to the morning light. She may be young, but she has all the markings of a classic beauty. I hope the suggestion I left her isn’t too vague. It would be nice for one person to know who I really am.

  I muster the energy to walk out on the balcony that attaches to my rooms. The gigantic towers marking the beginning of the Bridge of the North dominate the skyline next to the shimmering surface of the morning sea. I stretch, naked. The crisp breeze sends a shiver down my spine, but I lean on the railing, ignoring the cold. We’ll soon be home. I can finally get back to Coin, where my presence is necessary. I’ll need to reestablish myself; no doubt all sorts of mental insurrections have occurred in my absence.

  A knock sounds at my door, so I shrug into a thin robe. The nervous sweat of the obsequious man on the other side practically soaks through the doorway. I open the door for Eledar Cortola, Minister of Finance in the Khalintar of the Coin, one of the three most powerful individuals in the entire city, one of the de facto rulers of the Khalintari Republic. He is a man known for his ruthless and cunning mind. This morning, he’s donned the casual robes of his office: blue silk embroidered with cloth-of-gold thread and a dozen golden pendants marking his station.

  Bending him to my will was all too easy. Cortola dotes on his daughter, a weakness for a man of such power. Whenever he thinks of me, a trigger I implanted in his mind blasts him with the irrational fear that I have total control over his daughter’s life. It’s not one of my finer moments, but Cortola has never gotten close to stepping out of line.

  “My, uh, lord?” Cortola says, terror nearly stopping his speech. “The servants below have informed me your breakfast is prepared.”

  “Thank you, Eledar,” I say, grinning and walking out in front of him.

  As I place my foot on the first step down, a surge of elation rises behind me. I glance back, but Eledar is doing his best spineless impression, eyes on the floor. I narrow my eyes and cast out my senses. Half a dozen minds in the common room enjoy various meals and drinks. The staff in the kitchen also have normal thoughts, aside from the girl who recently left my room, who is far too enthusiastic about cooking. A wagon passes outside on the way towards the Bridge of the North, an old married couple bickering as they drive. Just as I’m about to give up, I catch a glimmer of hostile intent across the Path. Ah. Cortola hasn’t ever stepped out of line.

  Until now.

  “Eledar, Eledar,” I say, shaking my head. He shudders and clenches his eyes closed. The sound of my voice sends all sorts of terrifying images into his head. “I’m not going to eat down there, in the open, when you have so conveniently placed an assassin across the way with a clear view of my seat. That would be stupid. Do you think I’m stupid, Eledar?”

  “N-No, my l-lord,” Cortola answers. I wrinkle my nose as urine dribbles down his leg and stains his silk robes.

  “Eledar, did you really think that ruse would work? How did you even come up with it?”

  “I wanted,” he gasps through his fear. “To protect my daughter.”

  I dive into his mind. The man is telling the truth. The constant fear he feels whenever he sees me has made me such an enemy that his hatred has overcome the terror. I underestimated his cunning. If I hadn’t caught his elation, I would probably be dead, my face cooling in a Donirian stew.

  “Eledar, I’m going to have to punish you for that,” I say, a broad smile growing on my face.

  “My lord, I’m sorry, please, I fear for Ilisa, she is everything-”

  “Yes, I know,” I cut him off.

  I cast my senses back out, locating the assassin without difficulty this time. As another wagon rolls past, I jam my way into the assassin’s consciousness and take over. He’s so surprised he doesn’t even have time to fight. We lift first one foot, then the other. Our body rises from a prone position into a crouch. With one last burst of will, we dive forward. Our head lines up perfectly with the front wagon wheel on the left.

  Screams pierce the quiet of the morning as the assassin’s head pops like an overripe cherry. I force my body not to sag as I come back to myself. Wrung-out and weary, the cold of the Winter air bites through my thin robe with a vengeance, my skin no longer feeling so resilient. The world is duller, the colors muted, even the grain of the wood in the walls less defined. Casting my mind that far is a trial, but it’s worth it.

  Cortola glances about in alarm. I brush past him on the way to my room. Despite dressing in my thickest shirt and functional trousers, I have to fight off shivers to buckle my belt. When I can steady my hands, I head back outside. Cortola remains in the hallway looking uncertain and afraid.

  “Come, Eledar. Let’s go to breakfast, shall we?”

  “But, my lord-”

  “Do shut up and follow,” I snap in irritation. The man just can’t play along.

  I sit at the nicest table before the hearth. The warmth of the fire helps to drive the chill out of my bones, and life trickles back into my limbs. The serving girl from my room brings us two heavy plates heaped with food: roasted potatoes, a pair of boiled eggs, bacon still dripping with grease, and a hearty helping of oats mixed with cinnamon and honey. The girl lingers as she places my plate, but I ignore her along with the flash of hurt I sense as she flounces away.

  Cortola has a perfect view of the street, where he can see the commotion outside. Realization dawns on his face, and his eyes flick from me to the street and back a dozen times. He chews his food slowly and struggles to swallow every bite. I, on the other hand, enjoy the meal immensely. No good Khalintari would ever be caught dead eating such rustic fare in Coin, but the hearty food fits the rugged people of Donir well. I sigh in contentment as I mop up the last of the oats with a final piece of bacon. The perfect bite.

  “How old is your daughter, Eledar?” I ask. He still has most of his food on his plate.

  “My lord, please.”

  “Now, now, you know better than that. What are you supposed to call me in public?”

  “Tarnas,” he grits the word out between his teeth. In the Khalin, it means ‘servant.’

  “Precisely. Now, Eledar, how old is your daughter?”

  “Why do you want to know?” he asks, desperation filling his voice. When I look at him expectantly, he adds “Tarnas.”

  “Last I saw her, she seemed to be growing into a woman. That was several seasons ago. How old is your daughter?” With the third repetition of the question, I bring my will to bear. Though I’m still recovering from earlier, I am more than capable of influencing a familiar mind at close range.

  “Fifteen, tarnas,” he whimpers.

  “Ah, then a woman indeed. Such a pretty little thing. Have you found her a husband, yet?”

  “There are offers, but I’ve been allowing her to choose,” he answers. His voice is steadier as the conversation turns to his daughter.

  “How kind of you. Then she hasn’t chosen yet?”

  “She has her eyes on one man, the son of Khal Antarah of the Sword.”

  “Ah, young Junayd, is it? His reputation is that of an honorable man. He’s acquitted himself well in the border skirmishes with the people of the Isles down south. The houses of the Minister of Finance and the Khal of the Sword
coming together? That would be a mighty alliance, one to be respected and feared,” I say, nodding in appreciation.

  “Yes, tarnas. I am proud of my daughter.”

  He relaxes. It’s as if he has forgotten who he’s talking to, who he’s just attempted to have killed. The fool.

  “Good. When we get back to Coin, send Ilisa to me. We can’t have her attempting to woo such a powerful man’s son without some experience, can we?”

  Eledar’s face goes ashen. His limbs drop as if I’ve broken his spine. Slowly, his eyes find the table.

  “You can’t,” he says, the word grating out of him through a fatal wound.

  “I will,” I snarl, leaning forward until he has to meet my gaze. “This is the least of the punishment you’ll endure if you ever so much as think of defying me again. Your daughter will come to my chamber, willingly, or I will force her to come, and you will watch.”

  We set out the next day for the Bridge. Cortola keeps his distance from me aside from an occasional fearful glance, and I let him. I’m disgusted with myself for failing to notice his intentions earlier. I know he loves his daughter, but I never thought he would be so underhanded as to kill me at breakfast. Not a mistake I’ll make again. None of the other dignitaries in our caravan notice or care that the Minister of Finance drops back and rides with the main body, leaving his scribe to ride alone up front with the vanguard. Normally, Cortola leads as his station dictates, but not today.

  I keep my head up and admire the last vestiges of Donir before the long journey across the ocean commences. The land is so brown, not the light, gleaming copper of the desert but the deepness of mighty trees lacking their leaves. I didn’t know trees could grow so high before I came to this land. We’ve ridden through forests that would make the stands of trees in the Khalintars seem as children grasping at the skirts of their elders. It leaves me feeling insignificant and downtrodden.