Ella frowned and tried to peer through the flurries of wind and snow. All she could see was a figure: a dark shadow.
Ella watched the figure, a man, climb from one roof to another, leaping and bounding with incredible agility. He ran and leapt from one building to the next, flying through the air for tense heartbeats before landing with catlike grace. A wide gap separated the Alturan market house from the surrounding buildings, but the figure didn’t pause. He dashed forward and threw himself into the air.
Ella stiffened as she waited for him to plummet to his death, but at the end he hovered as if floating, coming to rest gently beside her on the balcony.
Seemingly impervious to the cold, Killian pulled back his hood and grinned. The night was clouded, but the shimmering lights of the city poured from countless windows to light up his face. His wild red hair, down to his collar, framed a strong masculine face with a sharp nose and square jaw. Ella couldn’t help smiling when she saw the twinkle in his deep blue eyes.
“You couldn’t use the front door?” Ella said.
Her heart rate increased. Killian had a way of looking at her that made her feel there was nothing else to rest his eyes on.
“Easier said than done. You have no idea how hard it is to get away,” he said. “I have people by my side from the moment I wake to the last thing at night. Lords and ladies compete for the honor of having breakfast with me, and as for lunch and dinner . . .” He shook his head. “And then leaving the palace is a major event. There are the formalities. When the emperor travels to the Alturan market house, people speculate—particularly the Tingarans—that I’m showing preference to Altura. Every action is analyzed. I sometimes . . .”
“Shh,” Ella said. “You look well.” She smiled.
“I’ve missed you. First, the coronation, and now with just a few days to go until the Chorum . . .”
“I’ve missed you too,” Ella said.
She drank in the sight of him. He wore a regal purple cloak with black trim, and underneath, his embroidered collared shirt was tucked into black trousers. A silver belt bore the image of a nine-pointed-star, matching the silver buckles on his black boots. She saw both sides of him: the boy he was and the man he had become.
“Ella?”
“Yes?”
“Can we not talk about the future tonight? I mean, I’m happy to talk about our future. I’d like to talk about our future. Just not the war. I mean . . .”
“I’d like that,” Ella said. “I’d like that a lot.”
The night passed as Ella and Killian talked about Alise, Killian’s mother, and his joy at finally having the family he’d always searched for. Ella couldn’t help but think of her own mother, Katherine.
“You’re lucky you knew her,” Killian said, “even if you didn’t know who she was.”
Ella found herself looking into Killian’s eyes as they spoke, and they stood close together, so that Ella forgot all about the cold.
Without talking about the threat from across the sea, Ella told Killian how worried she was about her brother. Miro’s zeal kept him up at night, the desperation in his eyes evident every time Ella saw him.
Killian listened as no one else did, and he took Ella’s hands in his warm, comforting grip.
He then spoke about the things Evrin was teaching him. Killian had the powers of the Evermen, but Evrin had warned Killian that if he confronted Sentar Scythran, he would face the most dangerous opponent imaginable.
“Evrin says he doesn’t have time to teach me everything so he’s just concentrating on doing a few things well. I also have the knowledge from my time in Shar. I’m nearly ready,” he said.
Ella was glad he’d brought up the subject of his unique abilities, for it gave her an opportunity to ask the question she’d been burning to have answered.
“Killian,” Ella said, tilting her head to look up at his face. He looked just a couple of years older than she. “I need to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth. Evrin Evenstar and Sentar Scythran are both over a thousand years old. Will you live forever?”
“No one lives forever,” Killian said with a wry smile.
“I’m being serious. Will you live for a long time, like Evrin?”
“I . . . I can’t say. I honestly don’t know.”
“And I’ll grow old and gray while you tire of me. Then you’ll watch me die.”
“Ella, please don’t . . .”
“We’d be foolish not to speak of it.”
“Not now. Not tonight. Let’s just be together.”
As the hours passed and the occasional star shone through the speeding clouds overhead, Ella felt her furred cloak struggle to hold off the night’s chill.
Inside, her warm bedchamber beckoned.
As Ella made a decision, she felt her breath come short. She was going to invite Killian inside. They’d never been together. Not in that way.
Ella opened her mouth, and Killian suddenly looked up at the sky.
“Scratch it,” he cursed, “I was supposed to be back in time to have dinner with the Council of Lords.” He grinned sheepishly. “My mother will kill me.”
“Do you have to go?” Ella asked.
“I can’t tell you how much I want to stay,” he said. Ella thought she saw his eyes flicker to the balcony doors.
But he sighed and drew away. It hit her with force; she didn’t want him to leave. “Don’t go.” Ella pulled him close.
“I wish I could stay. Will you come and see me?”
“At the palace? Are you sure?”
Killian stroked Ella’s cheek as he held her. “I’m sure.”
“When?”
“The day after tomorrow. In the evening. We can have dinner, the two of us and my mother. She likes you, Ella.”
Ella shook her head as she smiled. “She’s only met me twice.”
“Will you come?”
Killian tilted Ella’s head, and they kissed.
Ella had kissed Killian back in Sarostar, in another time, when life was simpler, and no one knew about the darkness to come. This kiss sent a tingle through her lips as their two bodies fitted together perfectly, with his head at just the right height.
The kiss went on for a long time, but eventually Ella and Killian’s lips parted.
“The day after tomorrow,” Ella said. “In the evening.”
“I’ll wait for you,” said Killian. “I promise.”
Ella nodded. “I’ll come,” she said.
Killian spread his arms at his sides and chanted under his breath as he rose into the air.
And then he was gone.
Two days later, Ella arrived at the Imperial Palace in her best dress, a figure-hugging garment of soft yellow Alturan silk. She’d taken special care with her appearance, lining her eyes with the dark paste Shani used, chewing bitter peppermint for her breath, and selecting emerald jewelry to match her green eyes. She was glad for the cloak she wore over her snug dress; she’d had to pass dozens of guards to get to this point, and of course they were all men.
As the weather closed in and the howling wind scattered sleet through the air, Ella wished she had some easier method of communicating with Killian. Perhaps she could build some kind of signaling system for the two of them, she thought wryly.
She thought about their future together. As always, the thoughts filled her with both excitement and apprehension. She looked up at the grand façade of the Imperial Palace. How would she fit in here?
Ella wondered which of the several entrances to use and decided on the main gate. Killian hadn’t mentioned another entrance, so the main entrance made the most sense. She wore no raj hada and had no guards with her. No one here knew who she was.
Ella ascended marble steps broad enough for a hundred men to walk forward together and not touch shoulders. The arched entrance loomed impossibly tall, the massive double doors closed to the weather. Ella spotted a small entry portal set into one of the doors and turned the handle.
Ella e
ntered a cavernous hall and quickly closed the door behind her, mindful of the frowns the scurrying courtiers sent her way. She glanced around and wondered whom she should approach; all she could see were rushing officials and cushioned benches lining the walls. She’d come this way before, but she knew she couldn’t just start scouting around for Killian.
“Yes?” a well-dressed man approached, looking down his long nose at Ella. His thin hair was combed over a bald patch on the top of his head. Ella didn’t recognize him. “I’m Lord Osker, the emperor’s steward. Can I direct you?”
“I’m here to see the emperor,” Ella said.
“I see.” Lord Osker looked Ella up and down. She regretted wearing emeralds now; they marked her out as Alturan. “What is your name, and what is it regarding?”
Ella flushed. She’d expected Killian or perhaps Lady Alise to be waiting for her. Should she tell Osker she’d been summoned for a private dinner with the emperor and his mother?
“I’m Enchantress Ella Torresante. The high lord of Altura is my brother. It’s about a private matter. The emperor is expecting me.”
“Of course,” Lord Osker said. “Please make yourself comfortable.” He indicated one of the benches.
Ella nodded and sat down.
Lord Osker left shaking his head. Another Alturan who thought she could simply walk up and ask for the emperor, currently in a critical meeting with the new primate and running well over time.
Osker could have consulted the arrivals list but he had a knack for sensing a bold attempt to get an audience with the emperor. No doubt she was here to press her brother’s demands for more essence for Altura. Osker had his own position on the matter, and those he gave his allegiance to required him to control the emperor, and always attain the best outcome for Tingara.
If Altura’s high lord wanted more essence, he would have to press his case at the Imperial Chorum. Lord Osker knew from experience that if he kept a supplicant waiting long enough, he or she would eventually leave, and the problem would resolve itself.
One of Osker’s small army of clerks and servants came hurrying forward. “My Lord, we have a problem. Rats are escaping the cold and coming into the cellars.”
“Oh my,” Lord Osker exclaimed.
He promptly forgot all about the Alturan girl, and scurried off with his man.
3
Ella had never seen so many garish costumes. Adjoining the Imperial Palace, the interior of the great hall set aside for the Imperial Chorum was a rainbow of color. There were so many symbols and designs that it was difficult to appreciate them all.
On the tiers surrounding the central podium, the contingents of the houses sat in sections of crimson, emerald, orange, and an array of other hues. Ranged along the walls, the raj hadas of the nine houses competed with each other. The addition of the withered tree of the Akari and the black sun of the templars meant there were eleven sections, and high on the ceiling, the nine-pointed star of the Empire spread across a huge flag of black silk.
Long ago, in this very room, Emperor Xenovere V announced the annexation of Torakon, precipitating the great war that shattered the old Tingaran Empire and led to the demise of Primate Melovar Aspen. Here, only a few weeks ago, the high lords crowned the new emperor, Killian Alderon.
Now it was time to hear about the new threat that High Lord Miro Torresante of Altura said was coming from across the sea.
Ella watched, her heart in her mouth, as Miro made his impassioned speech. She was shocked when some of the Tingarans, Petryans, and Veznans hissed at his request for more essence for Altura.
Ella exchanged glances with Shani, a splash of red among the green of the Alturan section. The Petryan elementalist scowled. Seated on her other side she felt Amber, Miro’s wife, tense, and Ella reached out to squeeze the hand of her childhood friend.
Miro, standing on the high disc-shaped podium that rotated infinitely slowly as he spoke, looked all alone.
Ella heard Amber whisper. “After everything he’s done . . . everything we’ve seen.”
Miro’s arms fell at his sides at the end of his speech, and he left the podium. The new primate, a plump and soft-skinned old man who was as different from Melovar Aspen as two men could be, stepped up in his place and held out placating hands. He asked for a vote, and the leaders of the nine houses touched a tablet in front of them. With his own source of essence, the Dain of the Akari would abstain from this vote.
Ella felt her eyes burn as the response was overwhelming. Each house would have the same essence allocation, regardless of the scale of the perceived threat. Part of her knew it had been a foregone conclusion; yet even so, she felt disappointment. Miro had worked so hard to gain their support.
Then Ella frowned as she noticed the pattern of the voting. She made a quick calculation before coming to a realization. There was no denying the truth.
The emperor had voted against Miro.
Just a couple of days ago, Ella had left the Imperial Palace hurt and confused. Killian had invited her to dinner; yet every time she had tried to announce herself, she had been turned away. It was as if the officious Lord Osker had spread a warning to his staff. Ella had finally given up trying. If Killian wanted to see her, he could come to her.
Now Killian had just voted against helping Miro.
Miro returned to the podium, his shoulders slumped and defeated. He thanked the houses for responding to the current crisis. He then held up one of the shining reflectors and once more explained that the system was for the benefit of all the houses. Miro asked them to agree that if one of the houses called, the other houses would send help, and he vowed to do the same.
Then Miro cleared his throat. “I’m sure you’ve all heard my story now, and I won’t tell it again. But please, I beg you, don’t doubt my words. Speak with my wife, Amber, and the people of the once great nation of Veldria that I’ve brought here with me. Speak with my sister, Ella.”
Ella saw the long-nosed Lord Osker sitting across the hall with the other Tingarans. Osker’s head turned when he heard her name, and as their eyes met across the room, Ella fixed her best scowl on him.
“I didn’t just meet Sentar Scythran,” Miro said in a voice filled with emotion. “He held me captive. He . . . tortured me.” Miro paused and then looked up, his gaze sweeping the hall from one side to the other. The resolve in his eyes was frightening. “This enemy thinks nothing of us. Nothing!” Miro almost spat. “He thinks himself a god and slaughters men, women, and children like cattle to feed his war machine. When we take an army to war, we must do everything we can to risk as few of our sons and daughters as possible. The self-styled Lord of the Night can throw away as many of his revenants as he likes. He doesn’t care how many we grind into the dust, just as he doesn’t care about his own followers, those who see that their own best chance of survival is to join with him.”
Ella felt Amber’s grip on her hand tighten and returned the clasp. Across the hall, some of the Tingarans had the decency to look down rather than meet Miro’s eyes.
“He cares about one thing, and that is to restore the place of the Evermen at the top of the chain. The last time this happened, the Evermen made us their slaves. Long ago, we, the nations of the Empire, banded together and pooled our resources to throw off the shackles and be free. This time, the Evermen won’t treat us as their slaves. The only humans walking Merralya will be the dead.”
Ella let out a breath. Miro’s depiction of the future was terrifying, and all the more so because she knew how likely it was. Sentar Scythran possessed incredible powers, and even with Evrin’s training, Killian was young and inexperienced. Sentar possessed a ruthless determination and would by now have turned his revenant army to building ships as well as seizing vessels from the lands he’d conquered. Ella believed Miro when he said Sentar would come for Altura first.
Miro finished by saying that if anyone required further explanation on the reflectors and their use, to please speak with an enchanter at the Alturan market
house. He again vowed to come if an ally called. This time his unspoken request for the other houses to make the same promise hung in the air as he stood down.
A Tingaran lord rose to the podium to speak. He expressed doubts about Miro’s story and questioned the wisdom of the Imperial Legion answering the call of the Alturan devices, when the Alturan high lord himself stated that the Sentinel was the enemy’s final goal.
After several more speeches, the Chorum was over.
As the horde of delegates dispersed out the various exits, Ella found herself outside the hall in the more spacious gallery, feeling the need for air. She saw a familiar face, someone who could help her, and called out.
“Rogan!”
Rogan Jarvish turned and smiled at Ella, though his smile was strained and didn’t reach his eyes. His hair was entirely gray, the last vestiges of black vanished. The responsibilities of his time as lord regent and now as adviser to the emperor had aged Rogan where the strains of combat never had. He touched his lips and then his forehead in greeting—it would be inappropriate to do more—but his eyes were warm as he walked forward.
“Enchantress,” Rogan said.
“Please, Rogan. I need to see Killian. He must convince the other houses to do more for Altura. The Legion is strong here in Seranthia, but Altura can’t hold out alone. Halaran will help us, but Petrya and Vezna must do more.”
Rogan paused and then nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. This could be a good time; for once the Tingarans don’t have him boxed up in the palace.”
“Tell him I’ll be up in the gallery.” Ella pointed up at the second level. She could see a wide-open window, and there were no people around.
Rogan nodded and walked away. Taller than the men around him, he still cut a daunting figure. Miro said that even the Tingarans found it difficult to argue with Rogan’s scarred face.
Ella walked up the steps and leaned out the window, inhaling slowly, a deep breath that filled her chest. From here she looked out on an expanse of manicured gardens, one of many between the palace’s various subsections.
The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) Page 3
