An Echo of Things to Come

by James Islington

  He got back to his room and unlocked his safe, vaguely relieved to find the thick notebook still in its place. He settled into his chair and opened it to where he’d left off.

  He had a lot of reading to do.

  Chapter 25

  Caeden wandered slowly toward the palace, his hesitation growing with each passing step.

  It had taken him a few hours to traverse the catacombs in which he’d found himself, a thin trail of kan leading him out to the hidden entrance at the base of Ilin Tora, just as Alaris had said it would. It had taken another two to skirt the base of the mountain and enter the city via Fedris Idri. That had all given him time to think about everything he’d learned since the Wells, about the things Alaris had claimed. About his best course of action.

  Deilannis, he knew, was it—in fact, it was realistically his only option. He’d vacillated several times on whether he should trust what Alaris had told him; part of him wanted to ignore every word that the man had uttered, but another part—the stronger part—was confident that it was the truth. Alaris didn’t want the Lyth to get Licanius. If nothing else, Caeden felt that he could trust that.

  What he had yet to decide, though, was whether to see his friends before he went there. It was probably better just to leave, to keep everyone else out of it. Wirr, Davian, Taeris. Karaliene. None of them needed to be involved. None of them needed to know that he’d even been here.

  He idly kicked a stone along in front of himself. He could be putting them in danger by making contact. Isiliar was probably still hunting him, and he doubted in her current state that she’d bother waiting until he was alone.

  But he knew that wasn’t the real reason he was hesitating—not the only one, anyway.

  Alaris’s words had shaken him more than he cared to admit, more than even the brutality of Isiliar’s attack.

  Neither of us can claim to be on the side of what’s right.

  It was easy for him to say, an easy lie. It should have been equally as easy for Caeden to dismiss.

  But it wasn’t.

  He had been the one to imprison Isiliar—his friend. He remembered doing great things with these people, fighting side by side and defending what was right with them. And far from the enemy that Caeden had once envisaged, Alaris had seemed genuine in his regret over the invasion, over what had happened.

  Worse—though it still sickened him—Caeden even understood the motivation for it now. The Venerate thought that by agreeing to the Lyth’s bargain, Caeden was risking everything.

  And, perhaps, he was.

  He stared morosely at the sword hanging by his side. The only thing in the world that could kill Alaris, and the man had given it to him as if it were nothing. Given it to him because he believed that it was more important for Caeden to deal with the Lyth … and because he believed that Caeden was truly his friend.

  Perhaps he’d been confident that Caeden couldn’t beat him, even with Licanius. Perhaps it was a bluff. Alaris was thousands of years old; Caeden doubted that it would be easy to spot if he were lying.

  He shook his head in frustration. It didn’t feel like that exchange had been anything except genuine.

  And he hated the thought of seeing his friends again while those doubts remained.

  He swallowed, gritting his teeth against the indecision. He was making excuses to himself now. He knew, deep down, that some of his hesitation came from shame. He hadn’t spoken to any of them since he’d found out who he was. Even now, standing in the middle of the Upper District, he hadn’t decided whether he could. He wanted to tell them everything, and he wanted them to never know. He wanted to share the burden, and he wasn’t sure if he could ever face them again if they knew.

  Caeden paused as he came within sight of the palace gates, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably both at his memories of this stretch of road, and what lay ahead. Much had happened since the battle, and the worst signs of it had already been cleaned away.

  His jaw tightened. What he’d done here hadn’t been a mistake.

  He was close enough now that the guards were watching him. He nodded to himself, his stride becoming more determined. He hadn’t been on the wrong side of that fight. If he hadn’t been here, hadn’t fought, his friends would now be dead.

  “You’re him.” One of the guards had frozen as he watched Caeden, who was close enough now to be within earshot. It was said quietly, but there was awe in his voice.

  The other men with him frowned, studying Caeden for a couple of moments. One by one they straightened, eyes going wide as they realized to what their companion had been referring.

  Caeden inclined his head awkwardly, unsure how he felt but at least relieved that he didn’t have to spend too long trying to find someone who would let him in.

  “I need to speak with Princess Karaliene,” he said quietly. “Please let her know that Caeden is here.”

  There was no motion for a full five seconds, then one of the guards snapped into action, giving an awkward half salute and dashing through the gate into the palace grounds. The others just stood there, gawping at him.

  Caeden gave them as friendly a smile as he could. There was respect in their eyes, certainly.

  But there was also fear.

  Not five minutes had passed before there was movement from within the palace grounds. Caeden turned to see Karaliene walking toward him, a wide smile splitting her face.

  He smiled back.

  And then the memory hit.

  Caeden swept into the room, smiling broadly.

  “It’s done!” he announced triumphantly, glowing with the feeling of success. He brandished the Siphon aloft; as if at the motion, more cheers began raining down from the streets outside. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the joy in those voices.

  After far too many years, it was actually over. He’d broken the bond of the Siphon, freeing the Shadows. Freeing Silvithrin from its tyrant. Serrin was gone, fled. Wereth and his Shadowbreakers were safe, and he had thwarted their final plan in time.

  He took a deep breath, finally allowing himself to feel. Feel the joy of the moment, but also the pain of loss, the pain that had drawn him into this conflict in the first place. He’d called Thavari a fool for trying to do the impossible, to fix something that could not be fixed. It had been the last thing he’d said to his friend. And yet Thavari had tried anyway—an attempt which had ultimately led to this success. She would have been proud of Caeden, of what had just been accomplished. Caeden knew it.

  His smile widened as he was enveloped in a warm, fierce hug, followed by a long and passionate kiss. He eventually broke away, smiling into Astria’s bright blue eyes. Almost, they reminded him of Elliavia. Almost, he felt that old familiar sadness tug at his chest.

  But instead he laughed, allowing the warmth of Astria’s presence to spread through him, calming him and exciting him at the same time. That she was still here, still waiting for him, was the greatest miracle on a day of many. Before he’d left he had told her who he was, what he’d been, what he’d done. Everything he could think of to make her understand what she was tying herself to.

  And despite all of that, she had stayed. Through his absence as he had trained with the Shalis, and his uncertainties afterward. Through the explosion of the Lightspire. Through the Desecration of the Three Bells, and the riots that had followed.

  “How is Wereth?” she asked eventually.

  Caeden sighed, still smiling. “Wereth is … happy. I think. I’ve never really seen him that way before, so it’s hard to tell.” He shook his head, glancing at the sphere of crystal in his hand. “He still blames himself for creating this, and particularly for letting Serrin get his hands on it. But now … I think he will return to Saran’geth. His job here is done, and for all the wonders that he created there, that city could still use a strong hand at the helm.”

  Astria smiled, sweeping a lock of her short brown hair aside. She was tanned from the Silvithrin sun, petite. Not the porcelain beauty of Tyrithia d
u Carr, nor the cold perfection of Evanarra Gathius, both of whom had attempted to woo him over these past few months. Astria was far more than that. She was bright, truly alive, full of energy and wonder and the purity of joy.

  And somehow … she also understood him. Understood his moods, understood what he needed and when he needed it. He just hoped that he was half as good at knowing those things about her.

  “So is the danger over?” she asked.

  Caeden wavered, but eventually nodded. “For the most part. There will be a few weeks needed to sort out the new government, and nobody’s decided what to do about the Shadowbreakers just yet—even Wereth. They didn’t get to complete their plan, but the things they did prior to that were bad enough.” He scratched his head. “We can leave, if you want. I’m not needed anymore; if anything, I suspect that my presence may cause more issues than those it solves. We could go to—”

  “No.” Astria laid a hand on his arm, her voice calm but firm. “No more running. Remember?”

  Caeden hesitated, but inclined his head. She was right. If they moved on, he would only feel the need to press forward again, to keep looking to disprove Gassandrid’s odd prophecies. But that way was madness. Even if some unseen force was somehow in charge of his life, even if these decisions were somehow not his own, he was happy here. For the first time in as long as he could remember.

  “Good.” Astria smiled at him, a relieved expression, then nodded toward the kitchen. “I need to go and tell Thera that she’s safe now, but”—she waved him back into his chair as he made to rise—“she’s safe now, so you should relax. I’ll get Amos to fix something for you on the way out.” She smiled at him again, and this time it was a sly look of promise. “We’ll have to celebrate tonight.”

  “I look forward to it,” Caeden said with a return grin.

  He settled back in the armchair, closing his eyes and just … relaxing. How long had it been since he’d done that? Nowhere to go. No one to save, or find, or hunt, or escape from. The sounds of celebration still drifted in through the window, laughter and cheering and even joyful weeping audible from the street. He revelled in it, drank it in. Finally, he’d done something good. Something right.

  After some time had passed, there was a knock on the door. Caeden waved lazily to indicate that Amos, bearing a tray on which sat a single half-full glass, should enter.

  “Amos!” He smiled at the older man. “You’ve heard the good news?”

  “I have indeed, Master Tal,” said Amos, as always refusing to shy away from propriety, even in this momentous hour and with people dancing in the street outside.

  Caeden cocked an eyebrow at him. “And you are … pleased?”

  Even Amos’s exterior, it turned out, was not immovable. The hint of a smile crept onto his face.

  “I am pleased, Master Tal. You could even say that I am very pleased.”

  “Glad to hear it, Amos.” Caeden winked at the man. “Thank you for the drink. What is it?”

  Amos began rattling off the mixture, and for a few moments Caeden barely listened, having not particularly cared about the answer.

  Then he registered what was being said, and he stiffened.

  “Amos,” he said, speaking slowly as he interrupted the man. “I’m sorry … can you please repeat that?”

  Amos repeated the ingredients, a small frown on his face at Caeden’s tone. “Is there something amiss, Master Tal?” he asked after he was finished. “It is exactly as Mistress Astria requested that I prepare it. She was very specific.”

  Caeden closed his eyes, nodding slowly. “Nothing is amiss. You may go, Amos. Thank you.”

  He waited until the man had left the room, then stared down into his glass. Tried to remember.

  Had he told her, at some point? This mix … it was his favorite. The one that he only made on special occasions, when he was celebrating something. When he felt like he’d won a great victory.

  He hadn’t felt that way in the last century. Longer, probably.

  He went cold, hand trembling as he pushed aside the drink and leaned forward, head in his hands. It could be nothing. It could be a coincidence, or perhaps he’d simply told her at some point. Or maybe he’d written it down somewhere one time, somewhere she’d seen without him knowing. This could be her effort at springing a surprise on him.

  But it didn’t feel that way. He closed his eyes, imagining her eyes, picturing the way that she looked at him. Thought again about how it reminded him just a little of Elliavia.

  She knew him, could read him like no one else could …

  Time passed.

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d stayed like that, just staring at the wall, but when the sound of the door creaking open finally snapped him back to awareness, it was dark outside. The sounds of celebration still echoed up to him; that would likely continue for much of the night, if not the next few days.

  “Tal?” Astria’s voice came from the doorway. “Are you in here?”

  “I am,” said Caeden quietly.

  The sound of footsteps, and then Astria’s silhouette appeared in front of his chair, frowning down at him. “Tal? Why are you sitting here in the dark?” She moved to the side, lighting one of the lanterns, then returned to look at him with a puzzled, mildly concerned smile. “Are you all right?”

  He leaned forward, looking into her eyes.

  “I’m all right,” he said. He held her gaze. “Not as good as that time I won the competition at Dianlys, but all right.”

  Astria put on an appropriately bemused smile, but he saw it. That moment of recognition, the flicker that meant that she understood what he was talking about. That she remembered what he was talking about.

  “What competition was that?” she asked.

  Caeden smiled tiredly, though it was only to force down the lump in his throat. “Or that time Mayden Caan was trying to claim birthright to Caer Lyordas. When we beat her … I was happy that day.”

  Astria said nothing, her smile fading.

  “Or when I asked my wife to marry me, and she said yes.” He gazed at her, light-headed, chest aching. “When I asked even though I knew that she was going to say no, because it was the stupidest thing that she could possibly do. Because she was so much better than me, so much better than I deserved. And she said yes anyway. She had to say it three times before I realized what she meant. Before I could believe it.” He laughed at the memory, even as he blinked back tears. “The wife that you are not, Nethgalla. The wife that you could never be to me.”

  Astria opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again silently. She looked away, as if ashamed. Her gaze alighted on the glass sitting by Caeden’s chair, untouched.

  She groaned.

  “You figured it out just from that?” she whispered.

  “When did you kill her?” Caeden’s voice cracked. “How much of her was her, Nethgalla?”

  Nethgalla said nothing for a long time. There were tears in her eyes, too, when she finally spoke.

  “While you were with the Shalis,” she whispered. She leaned forward, her tone desperate. “She was going to leave you, Tal. She stayed for a few days but after you told her everything, she—”

  “Enough.” Caeden snarled the word as he came out of his seat, hand shooting out to grab Nethgalla by the throat. He needed to end this creature. He needed to be rid of her blight on his life, once and for all.

  Beneath his grip, Nethgalla began to change.

  Within moments, he found himself choking his wife. Choking Elliavia.

  He released his hold, eyes wide with fear and rage and sorrow.

  “You are a monster,” he whispered. He drew his sword, leveling it at Ell’s heart. “I should end you now.”

  “Tal. Please.”

  His heart wrenched to hear that name being said in that voice. He stepped back as if from a physical blow.

  “Why do you do this? Why do you pursue me? Plague me?”

  “Because I love you, Tal,” said Nethgalla softly. Her e
yes glistened. “Because I won’t give up until you understand that it’s me. That this thing you’re trying to do … it’s not necessary. It’s wrong. I don’t want you to do it, and you know that’s something that your wife would say.”

  Caeden let the sword drop to his side and collapsed back into his chair, head bowed. “My wife would not have killed an innocent woman to trick me into loving her, either,” he whispered. “She was the gentlest soul you could …” He trailed off, swallowing, trying to keep his emotions in check. “Just … leave. Leave and never return. The next time I see you, I will kill you, Nethgalla. It will pain me, but I promise you that I’ll do it anyway.”

  When he looked up again, he was alone.

  He sat there for some time, staring at the wall. The jubilant noise from outside was grating rather than exciting now. He knew that the victory he’d helped win here was still something good, something pure. It didn’t stop it from turning to ash in his mouth anyway.

  He eventually turned and produced a trickle of Essence, enhancing his voice. “Amos,” he called.

  A minute later the wrinkled man was by his side.

  “How can I help, Master Tal,” he asked quietly. He hadn’t heard anything, but somehow he knew that something was wrong. His demeanor was as calm as ever, but it was … gentle. Sad.

  “Please pack my things. I will be leaving in the morning.”

  “Alone, Master Tal?”

  Caeden stood, staring out the window. The Broken Palace still burned in the distance against the night, its flames red and angry.

  “Alone, Amos,” he said heavily.

  “Caeden?”

  Caeden blinked, coming back to reality. Karaliene was in front of him, her smile replaced by a concerned expression. “Are you all right?”

  Caeden froze, his heart sinking. It had been a mistake to come here—he should never have exposed Karaliene to this kind of threat. He inwardly cursed himself, cursed his weakness. He’d known Nethgalla was a danger, and Alaris had warned him that she would be watching his every move, watching his friends. It shouldn’t have taken the pain of this memory to drive that point home.