by Beth Alvarez
Kytenia and Rikka stood without prompting.
“Fine.” Alira heaved a sigh and beckoned a few others. “If that’s what it takes to get him to follow orders, I suppose we’ll make do.”
“The closest we can get you is a point on the shore.” Edagan tied herself to her mages, knotted their power together and began a Gate. “It’s a fair bit closer than the college, but you’ll still have to walk.”
“I know some shortcuts up the cliff,” Rhyllyn said as he positioned himself at Rune’s side. “I’ll get them up there.”
Alira, Kytenia and the others gathered at Rune’s back, ready to slip through the Gate behind him. The portal sizzled and hissed as it split the air and opened onto one of Lore’s rocky beaches just below the cliff where the permanent Gate stood.
Rune’s eyes narrowed as he watched them work. It was a good thing they’d agreed to help. He was so weakened he could hardly feel the way they worked the flows. He couldn’t imagine trying to do it himself in this condition, whether or not he had Rhyllyn’s assistance.
“There,” Edagan said as the Gate stabilized. “Keep together. Shortcut or not, I don’t expect we’ll see you for several hours. If you’re not back by nightfall, I’ll send someone to retrieve you.”
Keeping Rhyllyn’s instructions for walking in mind, Rune led the way.
Pins and needles coursed over his body as he moved through the Gate. He would have shuddered, if not for the distraction of his feet on the ground.
Sand tickled between his toes. Warm and pleasant as it was, not all the terrain would be. He should have checked the spare rooms to see if any of the guest wardrobes contained shoes that might fit.
“This way,” Rhyllyn said, and the group started off.
No one offered Rune any assistance until they reached one of the winding trails that cut up not up the cliff, but the hill beside it at the far end of the coastal town. Halfway up they found Rhyllyn’s shortcut, a set of steep, jagged and uneven steps carved into the stone.
Already Rune’s tender new skin was raw, his feet and legs both aching and burning with fatigue. Even the grass at the top of the cliff was rough and cutting enough to make him regret this trip as much as possible.
Rhyllyn trotted up the swell ahead of them. “Here,” he called back. “This is where we found you.”
Kytenia and Rikka each took one of Rune’s arms and aided him up the hill. As they walked, he watched the ground for signs Vahn might have found the cliffside trail. When they reached the top of the hill, he stopped.
Rune stared for the span of a few heartbeats, and his pulse accelerated. He pulled away from the mages and pushed past Rhyllyn at the edge.
Before him, a wide circle surrounded the ruins of the Gate. Charred earth spread twenty paces from the column in any direction.
Staring at the heap of black stone in the center, Rune took a step.
He expected ash and soot under his blistered feet. Instead it was sun-warm, hard and glass-smooth. Its surface bore no tracks, could hold none. There were no marks showing where he’d been or where the mages walked to retrieve him, nothing to indicate how many countless spectators had climbed the cliff to see the place. And in the middle of it all stood a pillar of blackened, glossy stone, his kingsword fused into it as surely as smelted steel.
The mages lined the edge of the circle behind him, waiting in silence as he limped across the scarred earth to wrap a hand around the hilt of his sword.
Rune didn’t bother trying to shift it. Instead he tried to recall where they’d been when the sword split the Gate-stone and unleashed the wild fury that could do such a thing. He turned back, looking at the ground where Vahn had lain and begged him to wait. A place near the heart of the ring, where that power had burned through him in the blink of an eye.
The mages hadn’t looked for Vahn. Now Rune understood why.
His fingertips left the familiar grip of his sword’s hilt as he sank to his knees, still staring at that empty space on the blackened earth.
No one could have survived something powerful enough to melt a Gate onto an indestructible kingsword.
Yet, for some reason, he had.
His hands dug at the unmoving glass, his teeth clenched and his eyes screwed shut. Neither prevented the tears of pure defeat.
“It should have been me,” Rune choked when gentle arms encircled his shoulders. “Not him. It was supposed to be me.”
“You know he’d say the same of you,” Kytenia whispered.
Her words offered no respite from the deep ache in his chest.
26
One Last Duty
Despite everything, a blue banner bearing Ilmenhith’s crest still rose above the city. The wet cloth flapped from the peak of a tower, crooked and mostly ruined, but standing above the sea. High waves covered it when the tide came in, as they covered the rest of the city, but the symbol remained.
Firal kept her head high as the men rowed their small craft closer, though her throat was so thick she could scarcely breathe, and unshed tears pricked her eyes.
Here and there, remnants of buildings stood above the rest of the city, though the murky sea water hid most. The silt hadn’t yet settled, though the men steering the vessel chatted amongst themselves about what the place might look like in years to come.
Elenhiise resembled an atoll now. The outermost edges of the island remained, including some sandy stretches near Ilmenhith’s ruined harbor, but the collapse of Core had swallowed most of the rest. A dark blue ring of ocean held the underground city and the ruins that had stood above it, the water there so deep it chilled her to think of it. The temple was down there, too. And, she supposed, the body of her mother.
Sniffing, Firal turned back to watch one of the sailors climb the tower and cut the flag loose. He draped it around his neck and tucked the ends under his arms to keep it in place, then returned to the water to swim back to the boat.
As the sea had swallowed the island, the surrounding reef would eventually swallow its ruins. With time, the reef would gather sand and draw the island back to the surface. As it was, most of the land was scarcely more than ten feet underwater. Shallow enough that when the water cleared, some of the ruined buildings and landmarks would be visible from a boat like theirs, yet still deep enough to mean every person who’d left the island would never return home.
“Do you regret coming to see it?” Firal asked, watching the sailor paddle back and scale the side of the boat with the aid of a companion.
“Do you?” Rune sounded calm and unshaken. She knew without looking that his face was just as placid. He’d been that way since he’d returned from Lore. She had worried how he would react to the consequences of his actions, recalling the determination and passion she knew so well. Instead, aside from the quiet moment they’d shared in his room when he awoke, she’d seen little emotion out of him at all. Perhaps the magic had burned that out of him too, right alongside the corruption that had marred his body.
Silently chiding herself for that thought, she made herself face him. He wasn’t immune to the troubles they faced. What she saw from him was simply an unexpected reaction. Resignation and acceptance instead of anger.
He met her eye and for a moment, the air between them was burdened by the silence.
He looked away. “There’s your memento.”
The sailor unslung the flag from around his neck and wrung the sea water out of it before he presented it to Firal.
She smiled as graciously as she could as she took it from his hands. “I suppose that’s all for us to do here, isn’t it? Let’s go back. Thank you, everyone, for your help.”
The sailors manning their vessel nodded. Some men murmured responses she didn’t hear, then returned to their work. They took to the oars and navigated expertly back to the larger ship waiting just off the coast of the island’s remains.
Little vessels with shallow keels dotted the waters over the island. Men and women dove to recover belongings from the ruins or hunt for
things they thought they could sell. The large ship they cut toward was one of several. Scavengers had come from all directions as soon as the sea had calmed.
Rune quietly thanked the men as they pulled up alongside the ship. He guarded the bottom of the questionable rope ladder as Firal clambered to the ship’s deck. Then he followed. He reached the deck behind her as she called for the mages to return them to the mainland. Waiting for their answer, she looked out across her demolished home one last time.
“I don’t think I was ready to see this,” she remarked softly, clutching the flag in both hands.
“I don’t think we’d ever be ready,” Rune replied. He’d insisted they go, sooner rather than later, and—like she had when he’d asked to see Lore—Edagan urged the mages to oblige.
She’d urged Firal to join him, too. Kytenia had voiced some frustration about the matter, but she and most of the other Elenhiise mages had chosen to stay behind. With the way her heart broke when she saw what was left of her kingdom, Firal regretted allowing herself to be pushed into it.
“You’re taking it well,” Firal said.
He shrugged, never looking her way. His eyes were distant, almost cold. “I have to. Nothing I can do would change it.”
She quieted and gazed out at the sea. She motioned toward the water after a time. “You don’t care to dive for anything?”
Rune smothered a laugh and ducked his head. “Ah, no.”
Firal raised a brow. “What?”
“To be honest,” he said with a chagrined smile, “I don’t know how to swim.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Can’t you?”
“No, and this is all the more time I hope I ever spend on a ship. I’m not fond of deep water, or sailing.” He gestured to the white-robed mages that appeared from the ship’s hold. “Let’s return to dry land, shall we?”
“Of course.” Firal sighed, folded the wet flag on itself and moved to join the mages. She wanted nothing more than to take her lost kingdom’s banner somewhere and hang it to dry, then sit and rest with Lulu. The girl was back at Rune’s manor—the safest place for the child, it seemed—but though the morning had been mentally exhausting, the day wasn’t over yet.
“I fear this is the last time we will meet in council as equals,” Vicamros said, though there was little apology in his tone.
Firal made herself smile. The meeting was small. Aside from the two of them, only Rune, Garam, and the friendly Redoram Parthanus were in attendance. No one else was necessary. There was no business to conclude, and the three of them were only present to serve as witnesses. Or spectators, she thought glumly.
“It’s hard to be anything else, when there’s no longer an Elenhiise for me to rule.” She managed to keep her voice level, though her heart rebelled. She wanted to cry again, but at the same time, some tiny, bitter part of herself was glad she didn’t have to suffer alone. Elenhiise held two kingdoms, after all, though neither was named. Both had fallen into the sea, leaving her and the young king of Alwhen without countries to lead. She didn’t know what had become of Mathen, but if he lived, he shared her fate.
“The situation is a blow to both of us, believe me.” Vicamros scratched his beard and frowned at the surface of the table before him. “But all things must end, and we will find new ways to manage. House Kaith stands to become a great power in the southern trade kingdoms.”
“Not as ideal as the harbor in Elenhiise, I’m sure,” Firal said. “But they have a strong economy. I am sure they will be valuable allies to you.”
“Yes, and I intend to speak to the mages of Umdal about establishing permanent Gates to keep our economy thriving. We’ll need to import a great deal while settling the Elenhiise refugees.” Vicamros cast a sidewise glance at Redoram, who nodded.
“You mean to keep them in the Triad, then?” She was relieved, but she hadn’t expected anything else. Bodies were the clockwork of a kingdom. So long as they integrated well and found new ways to support themselves, there was no reason for any ruler to scorn them.
“I do. Large parts of Aldaan remain uninhabited, and therefore unused. I mean to settle a large portion of them there. The country holds good land, filled with ore-rich mountains and good terrain for vineyards and orchards. A shame to let it go to waste.”
“Well, I’m sure they’ll be glad for the opportunity to start a new life.” Again she forced herself to smile.
“As I suppose you are to do, as well.” Vicamros hesitated.
Garam cleared his throat. “May I speak, Your Majesty?”
The king granted permission with a flick of his fingers, the way he always did.
“As you’ve said, there’s a great deal of land in Aldaan that is currently unused. With the lady’s expertise, it may be in your best interest to grant her a parcel and allow her to oversee the settling of her people.”
Vicamros nodded in slow consideration. “What say you, Firal? Have you any desire to take a position beneath my banner? A baroness, perhaps, with holdings of your own?”
The title would make her nobility, but barely. Still, it was more than she expected. It was a relief to be trusted, but she’d played the games of royalty long enough to know she still had to tread carefully. Vicamros owed her nothing. If she accepted his offer, she’d owe him everything.
“It would be an excellent way to aid my people in establishing a new life, as Lord Kaith said.” She rubbed her hands in a feeble effort to restore warmth. She’d felt cold for days, but it was a cold of spirit, not body. As if all her fire had been drained. “But while I want what is best for my people, I know they are in your capable hands. I’m afraid I must have time to think about it, Your Majesty. My family and I have been through a great deal. Will you give me time to consider?”
“Of course.” Vicamros straightened, evidently pleased by her reluctance. “It will be several weeks before the refugees are organized and dispatched to their new residencies. I will expect an answer no sooner than when the first family departs for Aldaan.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Firal murmured. “You are most gracious.”
“No matter which direction you choose to go, know that you are always welcome in the Triad.” The king sat back, giving tacit dismissal.
Firal nodded, then rose.
Beside her, Rune stood as well.
Vicamros cleared his throat. “You may see her off if you wish, but don’t forget your obligations today.”
Rune said nothing, but bowed in response and turned to escort Firal from the council chamber. They walked the halls in silence for a time before she spoke.
“I’ll return to your estate and gather my things. I appreciate your hospitality. After the way I’ve treated you the past several weeks, I know I haven’t deserved it.”
He stifled a chuckle. “If I made all my judgments based on the way people behave under duress, I’d have no friends. I have few of them, as it is.”
“Well, those you do have are dedicated.” Firal gave him a nervous, fleeting smile. She didn’t pretend to understand why he’d offered her refuge, but she was grateful for it. That he’d survived the ordeal made things easier. Her heart was still raw with loss and troubled by unresolved anger, but there was also the blessing of relief that came from seeing him awake and aware after all was said and done. She’d come so dangerously close to losing them both.
Firal cleared her throat and went on. “I’m not thrilled by the idea of controlling a barony and entangling myself in more politics, but my choices are slim. I’ll try to decide where Lulu and I are to go soon, so you can return to the life you had before all these disruptions.”
Rune drew his tongue over his lips and hesitated. When he finally spoke, he stared straight ahead. “You might consider staying there. At my estate. It’s a large property, a furnished house. You’ll find I’m not there often. Until you decide what you want to do, you’re welcome to stay.”
Sweet relief filled her chest. Until that moment, Firal hadn’t realized she’d hoped
he would let her stay. “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“It’d be more of a bother to have you off tending a barony in Aldaan,” Rune said. “It’s hard to ensure you’re safe if you’re in a whole different part of the Triad.”
She arched a brow. “Are you so concerned with my safety?”
His eyes fell to the patterned stone floor in front of his feet. “Even if I weren’t, I did make a promise.”
Her amusement faded.
“In any event,” Rune continued, “you’re free to make yourself comfortable at the manor. I’d accompany you, but as Vicamros said, I have obligations.”
“What do you have to do?” She stopped outside the mages’ parlor.
“Mage business.” He shrugged. “Political matters. I’m still a part of the king’s council, so my presence is expected. This should be the last thing to tend before all this is over, though. Go on. I’ll be home soon.”
She hoped he was.
Calm and serene were the farthest things from what Kytenia felt, but she kept her feelings close and guarded them fiercely.
Kingdoms had risen and fallen before. Life ran in a grand cycle, events repeating themselves, like a snake biting its own tail. None knew that better than the man at her side.
Grateful as she was to have Rune along for this duty, she couldn’t help feeling it was too soon for him to be involved. He’d regained control of his body beautifully, though there was a hint of discomfort in the way he walked. His shoes were ill-fitting, too large and yet too narrow, lending him an uneasy gait. She didn’t know where he’d found them, but she suspected they were the first pair he’d come across when they’d returned to the manor after leaving Lore.
He’d spent the night before in private, leaving the rest of them to their own devices. Looking back, Kytenia wished she’d followed his lead. Knowing what she had to do, extra time to prepare herself for it would have been wise. Instead she’d spent the evening enjoying the company of the few mages she knew she could trust completely, pretending the day wouldn’t come.
