Marguerite placed a hand on his chest. “I wasn’t going to say anything yet, but you need to know what happened.” The reluctance was clear in her voice, and she sighed as she sat next to him. “I’m sorry, Birlerion. There is no easy way to say this, but we lost some friends in that final battle.”
Birlerion tensed as his heart raced in his aching chest.
Marguerite stroked his arm as his sentinal hummed with concern. “Tagerill, Versillion, and Marianille are all fine,” she said in a rush, “but we lost Chryllion and Saerille.”
The pain hit him, and Birlerion shuddered. “No,” he whispered as their faces swam before his blurring eyes.
“I am so sorry,” Marguerite said helplessly.
“Who else?” he asked, knowing there were more.
“Adilion.”
Birlerion closed his eyes. No. Adilion had been one of his closest friends. They had been at the academy together.
“And Yaserille and Lorillion.”
Birlerion’s heart twisted, and he panted as his chest constricted and tears leaked down his cheeks.
“Their trees are on the plateau; you’ll see them as soon as you go outside, along with Serillion’s sentinal.”
“I want to see them.”
Marguerite heaved a sigh. “If you fall over, it won’t be my fault,” she said, though she helped him up and shoved her shoulder under his armpit to steady him. He wavered and then, stiffening, staggered to the edge of the room and out into the sunshine.
He inhaled. The scent of fresh grass and meadow flowers tickled his nose, and he sneezed. He held his chest as the ache spiked. Marguerite helped him to the bench and he thumped down with a groan as he tried to inhale again. His breath caught twice but still didn’t grab enough air, and he concentrated on his breathing, in and out, until his rising panic subsided.
Marguerite tucked a blanket around his shoulders. The air had a chill bite to it, even though most of the snow had melted, leaving a slushy mire behind.
Releasing his grip on the bench, Birlerion looked around. A canvas tent stood beside his sentinal. The tall tree arched protectively over them, its silver bark glistening in the sunlight. A fire pit had been dug between them. The smoke from the crackling fire drifted in the still air and teased his nose with the scent of resin and burnt wood. The plains of Oprimere stretched out before him: grassy knolls interspersed with slashes of deep brown soil, torn open to the sky. Ditches crisscrossed the plain, and discarded weapons glinted in the sunlight.
He scowled at the scene. “You haven’t healed the land,” he said, stilling as his gaze reached the raised plateau to the east. Six tall sentinal trees crowned the top, their silver trunks burnished by the golden sun.
“It will heal on its own. I thought you were more important. And anyway, I don’t think that final confrontation should be forgotten so soon. Healing the scars will only hide the wounds; people need to understand and accept what happened. Many a pilgrim will come here, trying to find peace out of loss.”
“True.” There was a small silence. “Five. We lost five more.”
“Yes.”
Tears filled his eyes as their names chimed through him, all friends who would be much missed. “Doesn’t seem real, does it?” he said, blindly staring at the sentinal trees. “If it wasn’t for them, in time, all this would be forgotten.”
Marguerite sat on the bench and gently embraced him. “It will never be forgotten.”
“Of course it will. It will fade into history, much as it did the last time. The grass will grow,” he smiled briefly, “if you allow it, and it will all become myth and legend.” He sighed carefully and took a shallow breath before looking up at the brilliant blue sky. “Leyandrii’s really gone this time, hasn’t she?”
“She is still watching.”
Birlerion smiled, crinkling the corner of his eyes. “Good.”
Sentinals Recovery will be available December 2nd, 2021. Sign up to my newsletter via www.helengarraway.com to receive all the latest news.
Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series Page 45
