Heart wrenching, Valien turned to look at Kaelyn. Blood seeped between the ropes that bound her to the chair. More blood dripped down a wound in her arm; it looked like the hole of an arrow. A gash ran across her thigh, and two fingers were missing from her right hand; the stumps bled. She too was gagged. She too looked at him, her eyes wide and fearful but loving.
"It's all right," Valien whispered to them. "I'm going to get you out of here. This ends now."
Frey grinned, gun in hands. "Yes... you can save one of them." He licked his lips, turned his eyes away from his prisoners, and looked at Valien. Mockery filled his eyes. "I have only one round for this crude contraption I stole off one of your warriors. I can slay only one of your little friends."
Valien took another step forward, but Frey tsked and hefted his gun. Valien froze.
"Frey, enough of this," he rasped. "Put the gun down and draw your sword. Face me like a man, not a coward."
"Oh, but I will face you," said Frey. "We will duel with swords, the duel we should have had years ago, the duel you fled from. But first... first, my old friend, I will slay one of these two wretches. And I will let you choose." His licked his lips. "Choose, old friend."
Valien snarled and raised his sword. "Enough of these games. I've not come here to play, but to fight you. Place down your gun. Do not toy with me."
Frey only laughed, a sickly sound, and sucked in air between his teeth. "Will you have me choose then? Perhaps the boy?" He turned the muzzle toward Rune. "Ah... the young heir of Aeternum. The babe you saved all those years ago. The whelp you fought this war for, the hope of Requiem, the backside you hope will warm my throne." The emperor chuckled, a sound like blood bubbling from a wound. "Should I slay him with my single round?"
When Valien hissed and took another step forward, Frey shook his head and turned his muzzle toward Kaelyn.
"Or perhaps," Frey said, "I will slay my daughter. The fair, beautiful Kaelyn. The woman who betrayed me. The woman you love." He raised his eyebrows. "She has spread her legs for you, I know it. She is a whore and yet you love her. Perhaps I should fire my gun at her?"
Valien stood frozen, shaking with rage and fear, daring not take another step. "Fire your gun, and before you can draw your sword, you will die."
Frey nodded. "Perhaps. But I think I should have enough time to draw my sword, to duel you, perhaps to slay you too. Who would win a fight between us? I do not know. I know only one thing." He stared at Valien, all amusement gone from his eyes. "One of these two will die. Rune or Kaelyn. The heir or the lover. Twenty years ago, you chose Rune over the woman you loved. You saved him and let your wife die. She died in this very chamber, in this very bed where I now sleep every night. Choose again, Valien Eleison. Choose now or I will choose for you."
Valien wheezed for breath. He looked back at them. Both Rune and Kaelyn struggled in their bonds. They stared at him, eyes pleading, and he saw the words in their gazes. They each wanted him to choose the other.
"Choose!" Frey demanded. "The fuse burns low; you have only a few heartbeats left. Choose, Valien! The boy who can heal Requiem or the woman who can heal your heart. Choose!"
The fuse flickered. Frey raised his gun and bared his teeth, ready to fire.
Valien grimaced, his eyes burned, and his breath froze.
I cannot choose, he thought. I cannot!
Again that night returned to him, that night twenty years ago. Frey's men had swept through the halls, killing all in their path. Marilion had waited in this chamber, Rune in a nursery across the palace.
I chose Rune then, he thought. I chose hope for Requiem.
He looked at Rune now, a grown man, a man he could crown tonight. He looked at Kaelyn, the woman he'd flown with for so long, the woman he loved, the woman who filled his heart with so much light.
When Marilion died, he thought, I broke. I fell into darkness, into drink, into madness. He looked into Kaelyn's hazel eyes. You saved me, Kaelyn. You saved me from the wreck that I was. You gave me strength to fight. You gave me something to fight for. I cannot lose you too.
"Choose!" Frey shouted. "Choose now, Valien!"
Valien lowered his head.
All sounds faded.
He closed his eyes.
"Spare Kaelyn," he whispered.
For a moment the silence continued. Then Frey began to laugh—a dry, crackling sound like twigs breaking. His laughter grew until he was cackling.
He pointed his gun at Rune.
Tied in the chair, the young man looked up and gave Valien a last look. Rune nodded and Valien's eyes dampened. In his eyes, Rune was saying: I understand. I accept. Goodbye.
A scream rose outside.
A shadow darkened the window.
Frey pulled the trigger.
The arquebus blasted smoke.
A red dragon crashed through the window, roared, and shifted into human form.
"I will kill you, Father!" screamed Leresy, leaping through the air, a dagger in hand. "Die, bastard!"
The iron round slammed into Leresy's chest, spraying red mist.
Still screaming, the prince slammed against Frey and drove his dagger into the man's neck.
Father and son crashed down, screaming and struggling. Leresy howled, pulled his dagger back, and thrust it down again and again, stabbing madly and screaming. Frey gasped, blood spurting from his neck and cheeks.
"Die, you bastard!" Leresy cried. His tears poured and blood covered his arms. "Die! Die... I..."
The prince coughed blood, fell over the corpse of his father, and trembled.
Valien raced toward the shattered window. Rune and Kaelyn still sat tied to their chairs, glass shards in their hair. Valien cut through the ropes, freeing them.
They rose on shaky limbs, and Valien pulled them into an embrace, a crushing grip, and his eyes watered, and he held them and gasped and wept.
"It's over," he whispered, chest shaking, and held them close. "It's over. You're safe. You're safe."
He kissed their bloodied cheeks and tasted their tears.
KAELYN
Countless thoughts rattled in her head, vying for dominance.
We won the war.
I'm wounded and bleeding.
My father is dead.
Rune is alive.
My fingers are gone.
She trembled in Valien's embrace, and each thought howled inside her, each alone enough to overwhelm her. Yet as the voices rattled, one emerged above the rest, bringing tears to her eyes.
My brother is hurt.
She disentangled herself from Valien, limped forward, and fell to her knees above Leresy.
"Oh, Ler," she whispered.
He had fallen off their father. He lay on his back, smiling wanly. A hole gaped open in his chest. He placed a hand against the wound and coughed weakly, blood on his lips.
"Look at us, sister," he said. He coughed again but did not lose his soft smile.
She wept. She knelt over him, touched his cheek, and placed her second hand above his.
"I'm going to take care of you," she whispered. "You're going to be all right."
He laughed—a weak, choked sound. "I've got a hole in my chest a rodent could crawl through. But I killed him, Kae. I killed him for us." His smile turned into a sob. "He can't hurt you anymore. Never again."
She nodded. Her voice was so soft she could barely hear herself. "He can't hurt anyone anymore." She looked over her shoulder at Valien and Rune who stood watching. "Get bandages! Get medicine! We have to heal him, we—"
Leresy gripped her hand. "It's too late for me, sister. Look at me again. I want to die seeing your face."
She turned her eyes back toward him. "You can't die. I won't let you."
With a shaky hand, his fingers bloody, he reached up and touched her cheek. He whispered so softly she had to lean down to hear.
"Sister... make this a good kingdom. Whoever takes this throne... make sure they do
a good job."
She nodded. She could no longer even whisper, only mouth the words. "I will."
"Find Erry." Leresy blinked his damp eyes. "Look after her. Give her gold and a house to live in. Make sure she has a good life. Tell her... tell her that I forgive her. No. Don't tell her that. Tell her that she was right and that I'm sorry. Tell her that I love and that I'm so sorry."
She pulled him into an embrace. "You will tell her."
He shook his head. "Goodbye, my sister, my twin, my Kaelyn." He smiled and suddenly all pain left his face; he seemed at peace, as if already floating toward the starlit halls. "And make this a good life for you, Kae. May your wings always find our sky."
He went limp in her arms.
She held him against her for a long time, whispering to him, praying as his soul rose.
TILLA
She stood atop the tower of Tarath Imperium, gazed upon the city, and closed her hand around the hilt of her sword.
It was too quiet.
Frey Cadigus was dead, but the sun rose as always. Below in the streets, people emerged to their daily routines. Merchants hawked food in distant markets. Shops opened their doors. Hammers rang on anvils, smoke rose from smelters, and saws ground in sawmills. People moved along the streets, busy selling, buying, working, and living.
Tilla shook her head. This... this was wrong. She had expected... what? The Legions still attacking, sworn to slay the Resistance even with their emperor dead? A hundred claimants to the throne, bastards or madmen or distant relatives of Cadigus? She did not know. But when hearing of Frey's death, she had expected... not anvils ringing but cannonballs blasting, not smoke pumping from chimneys but the blaze of dragonfire.
Yet here she was. Frey lay dead and the city bustled with life.
"But I cannot forget," she whispered from the tower, eyes stinging. "I cannot just go on with my life."
She raised her chin and closed her eyes. Rune had won his war. He had slain the tyrant. But Tilla still had her war to fight. She still had her vengeance to claim.
She opened her eyes and nodded. She would do what she must.
With a deep breath, she leaped off the tower.
She tumbled down, shifted into a dragon, and caught the wind. She glided toward the Square of Cadigus below—or whatever its name might be now—and landed outside the palace gates. They still stood smashed, guarded by a handful of surviving resistors. Tilla walked between them—they knew her as Relesar's ward, the woman they had unchained from the Citadel—and entered the palace hall.
She walked between the columns, boots thudding against the mosaic, and drew her sword. Ahead rose the throne.
They stood around it, the survivors of the Resistance, no more than fifty men and women, most still wearing their tattered, bloody clothes. They were bandaged, weary, and covered in grime, and they ruled the world.
As Tilla stepped closer, her eyes stung and her breath shook.
"Which one of you is him?" she called out, voice hoarse. "Who among you is Valien Eleison, leader of the Resistance?"
She did not even need to ask. As she stepped closer, she knew who it was. Only one here stood with the aura of command. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered but haggard. His shaggy hair framed a weathered face and eyes full of scars—not the scars of knives, but the deeper wounds of the soul. Tilla almost lost her step. She had expected to see a demon, a barbaric warrior leering and drinking the blood of his enemies. Yet this man seemed weary beyond reckoning, an aging, outcast knight who longed to lower his blade. He seemed almost pathetic, a man who hated battle yet whose honor forced him to fight on.
Tilla sucked in her breath, raised her head, and banished all sympathy from her heart.
He might seem weary, even kind, but he killed my brother. She stepped toward him, sword raised. He would not have seemed so harmless that day years ago.
"Are you Valien?" she said.
His warriors—perhaps they were no longer resistors, for their Resistance had triumphed—drew blades and stepped toward her. Valien raised his hand, holding them back. They froze.
"I am Valien," he said. His voice was but a rasp, the sound of a strangled man. "Will you give me the courtesy of your name?"
She took another step toward him, sword raised. She considered giving him her new surname, the noble one Shari had bestowed upon her, but decided against it. She was no longer Tilla Siren; that woman had died with Shari.
"I am Tilla Roper," she said through a tight jaw. "Does that name mean anything to you?"
She saw that it did. Understanding filled his eyes. At his side, a young archer with long, golden hair breathed deeply, and her eyes softened.
Valien's rasp dissolved into a whisper. "Rune told me about you."
Her sword wavered in her hand. "Then draw your blade! Draw it and fight me, if you wish to die like a man, or I will kill you like a dog." She spat at him, narrowly missing his boot. "Draw your steel. Fight me and I will kill you like you killed my brother."
Her eyes burned and her chest heaved. She waited for him to rage, to draw his blade, to howl and lunge at her. But he only stood still, and no bloodlust filled his eyes, only sadness.
"I won't fight you, Tilla," he said. "I have fought for too long. I have swung my sword too many times. The war is over. Let no more blood spill."
She stepped closer, sword pointed at Valien, close enough that if she just leaned forward, her blade would cut him.
"Do you confess then that you killed him?" She wanted her words to sound strong, to speak with the authority of an officer, but today her voice cracked. "Do you confess your murder? Confess now before you die."
He looked into his eyes. There was no hardness to his stare, no malice, no fear, no hate... only weariness.
"I confess," he said, and Tilla snarled and prepared to thrust her blade, but he continued speaking. "I confess to killing many. I killed dozens with my own hands, Tilla Roper of Lynport, maybe hundreds. I sent tens of thousands to die; their blood stains my hands too. If you kill me now, you would be justified in doing so, perhaps. Thousands across Requiem grieve for brothers, sons, daughters, fathers... people I killed. Their deaths still haunt me. I will grieve for every soul I had to extinguish. Did I kill your brother too? Perhaps. You might find me heartless to say this, but the truth is, I don't know. I killed too many; I don't know their names. But know this: If your brother fell to my sword, his death too weighs upon my soul."
Her tears fell and her sword wavered in her grip. "Do you think contrition can save you now? Do you think some convoluted apology, if that's what this was, can save your life?"
He smiled thinly. "I don't know. But I know that I won't fight you; as I've said, I've fought too much already. And I know that Rune loves you. And I know that you saved his life. If you are a person he loves, I don't think you will slay me here."
Tilla's nostrils flared, her tears fell, and she panted.
You are wrong, coward, she thought, barely able to see, and readied her sword to strike.
"Wait!" rose a voice.
Tilla froze, her sword an inch from Valien's neck. She turned to see the young, golden-haired archer reaching out toward her. Tilla noticed that the woman was missing two fingers on her right hand; the stubs were bandaged.
"Wait," the young woman repeated. She heaved a sigh. "Valien did not kill your brother."
"How do you know?" Tilla demanded, teeth bared.
"Because I killed him." The archer lowered her head. "I am Kaelyn Cadigus, daughter of Frey, fighter of the Resistance." She looked back up at Tilla, and her eyes were damp. "I don't know the names of all my kills either, but I know some. I know the first one. I'm sorry, Tilla. I'm so sorry."
Tilla could barely stay standing. She hated herself for it, but her tears kept falling. She howled, the howl of a wounded animal, and spun her sword toward Kaelyn.
"Why?" she said. "Why did you kill him? He was only a ropemaker. Oh, stars. He was good."
/> Kaelyn nodded. "I know. Many who are good fight for evil men. He fought for Frey, same as you did, same as almost every youth in Requiem did. He flew against me. He fought well. We fought as dragons over the eastern skies. He was the first man I killed." She closed her eyes. "I was only sixteen, only a child, but... even a young dragon's fire burns bright. I still see him dying in my dreams."
Tilla closed her eyes too.
And I still see my first kill, she thought. She saw him now too, the quarryman in the hut. I burned him. I sliced open his belly and let him bleed out. And every night, I still hear his screams.
Tilla heard a clang and realized she had dropped her sword.
"I wasn't meant to be this person," she whispered. "I wasn't meant to hold a sword, to fight, to kill, to torture." She opened her eyes and looked at Kaelyn through her tears, not knowing why she spoke these words to this stranger, but unable to stop. "I'm just a ropemaker, but he made me a soldier. He made me kill so many. And I obeyed him. I murdered for him. I killed hundreds. And I still hear their screams." She took a step toward Kaelyn. "How do you forget? How do you wash the blood from your hands?"
Kaelyn smiled, a sad smile like a single ray of light breaking through clouds. "I don't think you can forget. I think you just keep living, and you try to do good. You try to build with your hands that once swung a sword or fired a gun. You try to bring life to a world you burned."
A voice spoke behind them from across the hall, and footfalls echoed.
"And now is the time to bring life. Now is the time for laying down swords, the time to lift sickle and loom and hammer. It's time to rebuild this world."
Tilla turned around and saw him there across the hall, walking toward her.
Rune.
His dark hair fell across his brow. His scars were fading. He wore a new doublet and cloak, and his eyes were somber.
My Rune, she thought. The boy I grew up with. My best friend. My lover. My future king... a man I no longer know. A man named Relesar. A stranger.
"And will you rebuild this realm as king?" she asked, and a new sadness filled her. He had his throne. He had an empire to rule. And she... what did she have?
A Memory of Fire (The Dragon War, Book 3) Page 21
