by R. J. Larson
Declare them guilty, Infinite, for their intrigues have ruined them. . . .
The temple, now cleared of its treasures—she would not think the word looted—fell amid billowing towers of smoke. Explosions shattered its white columns, then brought down the temple’s gilded dome. Parne’s crown.
By Your love, my Creator, I may approach Your house. . . .
Never again. “Oh, Infinite!” She couldn’t prevent the tears. “What will happen to Your people who love You?”
Kalme hugged Ela now, crying quietly. Behind her, Prill sobbed aloud.
As Ela watched the clouds of smoke and the walls of flames consuming homes, His voice whispered in her thoughts.
I consider the exiles sent from this place as righteous. For their good, I watch over My people. Tell them to build homes in their new land and be content. I remember and love them still.
She willed herself to rest in His words. And in the temple she now saw in her thoughts, yet unbuilt, above the white-arcaded homes of Siphra.
Bowing her head over Jess’s soft black curls, Ela prayed.
And the branch gleamed in her hand, offering its silent promise of reconciliation.
General Rol stood as Kien entered his residential meeting chamber. “You received the summons.”
“Yes.” Kien opened his money pouch and removed the small parcel Bryce had given him outside Parne. “I haven’t unsealed it, but that hardly matters. I’d hoped to leave Parne before it arrived.”
Rol glared at the formal blue-wax-sealed parchment. “Recessed or not, they’ve wasted no time in sending it.” Concerned, he asked, “What are your plans, my boy?”
“To defend myself before the Grand Assembly, then deal with the aftermath.”
The general turned and looked out the nearest window. “Yesterday, I received a missive from Thel’s subordinate-commander, Selwin.”
“I’m sure you did, sir.”
“You will tell me every detail,” Rol ordered. “However slight, I want to hear it. But first, we’ll take a walk.”
“A walk, sir?”
Rol turned from the window, suddenly testy. “Yes, Lantec. A walk. Fetch your destroyer to my front courtyard.”
Why? Kien restrained himself and went outside. He unleashed Scythe from the chaining block in front of the general’s residence and led him through the gate, into the main courtyard. “Best manners,” Kien reminded the monster. “No biting, no licking, no eating. Do you hear me?”
Scythe grunted.
Rol waited in the courtyard, clad in muddy boots and an old cloak. “Out to the pasture.” He marched alongside Kien as if on a mission. What was wrong?
“How is Ela?” the general demanded. “Tell me she survived.”
“She survived, sir. I believe she’s now traveling to Siphra with the other Parnian refugees.”
“Good.” Rol sounded grimly pleased. “I’ll send word to her chaperone. Tamri Het will be glad to return to Siphra and resume her duties, I’m sure.”
“Yes, sir. But Ela is already surrounded by chaperones.” Her parents and Prill were enough.
“Hmph! Chaperones aren’t fail-safe, and I have proof.” The general halted at a stone-arched reinforced gate leading into his private pasture. He motioned Kien and Scythe inside, closed the gate behind himself, then released a sharp, impressive whistle. “Flame, come here!”
The general’s destroyer was already approaching from the opposite side of the pasture. Dark and elegant as a destroyer could be, she nickered a low greeting.
Scythe answered her—a summoning call.
General Rol scowled at Kien. “Well? Notice anything different about my destroyer?”
Unnerved, Kien studied Flame. Well. “She’s, um . . . larger.” Bulging at the middle, actually. Kien eyed Scythe. “Is there something you’d care to confess?”
Scythe moseyed off to greet Flame with a nudge. She responded with a nip to his neck, then stood with him. Together, they appeared for all the world like a settled married couple.
The general cried, “I knew it!”
Kien coughed, trying to disguise a laugh.
Rol seemed almost sincerely disgruntled. Almost.
Father stormed through Kien’s tower room, shaking his head. “I blame myself. My enemies are trying to attack me by destroying your career!”
“You weren’t in Siphra or Parne, sir,” Kien argued, wishing Father would sit with him at the writing table and calm down. “You’ve no need to condemn yourself for my actions.”
“And you’ve not been in East Guard!” Rade Lantec snapped. “Now, I’ve already submitted a formal request to delay your trial. You’ll meet with my advisors next week, and . . .”
No! He didn’t want a delay. Kien abandoned his writing table, hoping to conceal his frustration. Father meant well. But the more Rade talked, the more Kien realized he would be battling political maneuverings as much as legal charges. Not good.
Infinite, give me patience!
By the time Father left Kien alone in the tower, Kien was too unsettled to continue preparations for the trial. He dropped into the chair before his writing table, deciding to finish his letter to Ela instead. He would send it to Jon to give to Ela. He’d already detailed Siphra’s former ambassador Ruestock’s meddling in the Siphran royal court. And Maseth’s assassination attempt and death. Then Akabe’s disastrous gift of gratitude—Aeyrievale. And Selwin’s official disapproval.
Onward. Kien picked up his reed pen, tapped it within the ink jar, and continued.
To present my case before the Grand Assembly, I’ve gathered evidence against myself. Matters do not look promising.
Too dramatic? No, it was the truth. And if the truth inspired Ela’s sympathy for him, why not?
If I am condemned and censured— Never mind, the thought is too worrisome to consider. Therefore, I’ll ignore it until later. Another more critical cause concerns me. Before you left East Guard last spring, you observed that I would never give up pursuing you.
Who am I to argue with the Infinite’s prophet? Particularly the most adorable prophet ever to live? You are correct.
Again, the truth—and surely no surprise to Ela. Why argue? He must challenge her instead.
For as long as we both draw breath—and if I am allowed to walk free, or walk at all, after my trial—I will persist until you change your mind. Unless, of course, the Infinite wills otherwise.
My love, don’t fear a future you cannot see. Instead, we ought to meet life together! By the way, I still ascribe to my theory that you cannot see my future because it is too intimately entwined with your own.
Let her blush as she had the last time he’d suggested this thought. Kien grinned and continued.
In closing, remember: The first trait I admired when meeting you—apart from your lovely face and form—was your courage. And your courage never fails you in anything but this, dear Prophet. Therefore, reconsider. And pray!
I dare you.
Please write to me! I’ll need your wisdom in the months to come.
She’d be unable to resist that plea, he was sure.
Kien signed his name without a flourish, sealed the note, then looked around his boyhood room. Still restless. Disturbed, actually.
Infinite? What if I lose? What if I’m condemned?
He could almost feel amusement in the Infinite’s response.
Who are you?
Basic question, but loaded with snares. Kien stood and paced until the most basic answer struck him. Could it be so simple? “I am Your servant.”
Who am I?
“My Creator.”
What will change if you are condemned by mortals?
“My mortal circumstances.” But not his eternal one—the undeserved favor he’d found with his Creator. And, if the Infinite was speaking to him now . . . “Won’t You tell me Your will regarding my possible marriage with Ela?”
Silence. But comforting neutral silence. Giving Kien reason to hope.
Kien sat at the table again,
staring at the heap of legal documents. “I wish You were my Judge in this coming trial. You know my heart.” You love me.
He couldn’t speak those last three words aloud. Too overwhelming. Particularly remembering all his failures.
Humbled by the Infinite’s mercy, His love, Kien said, “So whatever happens, I will continue, despite my faults, as Your obedient servant. In everything.”
He removed fresh parchment from his writing box and checked his ink.
Reliving every word, Kien wrote,
In the third month before the fall of Parne, the Infinite spoke to His servant and said, “You will go to ToronSea. . . .”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This story would not be in your hands, dear reader, if I hadn’t received invaluable help from a multitude of remarkable people.
First, my wonderful husband, Jerry, and our sons, Larson and Robert, who have endured my daydreaming and years of obsessive writing. Love you guys! Also, Robert and Sharon Barnett, my dear parents, who first encouraged my love for books. Donita K. Paul—dear friend and amazing author. May we always drag each other into marketing mischief. Tamela Hancock Murray, my ever-fun and patient agent, who agreed to present this series to publishers. And to Katharin Fiscaletti, who meticulously hand-copied the map in parchment and ink.
Bethany House editors-extraordinaire David Long, Sarah Long, and David Horton, who—intrepid adventurers all—welcomed BOOKS OF THE INFINITE into their realm. Thank you, everyone, for bringing Ela’s story to published life. I’m enjoying the whole process and still pinching myself.
Thanks and serious heartfelt applause to:
The Bethany House Marketing Team: Steve Oates, Noelle Buss, and Debra Larsen.
Bethany House Marketing Support Team: Chris Dykstra, Stacey Theesfield, and Brittany Higdon.
Bethany House staff, including Jolene Steffer, Carra Carr, Elisa Tally, Whitney Daberkow, and Donna Carpenter.
The Bethany House Design Team, and to Wes and Steve for their epic cover art!
Baker Publishing Group Sales Team: David Lewis, Scott Hurm, Bill Shady, Nathan Henrion, Max Eerdmans, Rod Jantzen, Rob Teigen, and the Noble Marketing Group.
Above all, dear reader, thank you for bringing this series to life in your imagination! Please feel free to visit me at my website: www.rjlarsonbooks.com. I’d love to hear from you!
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
In chapter 1, Kien is startled by the Infinite’s voice. What emotions do you see in Kien’s response to his Creator? How would you react in a similar situation?
In chapter 3, Ela tells Kien to obey the Infinite’s orders. Do you believe Kien takes this warning seriously? Why or why not?
What aspects of Kien’s personality and his role as a military judge cause difficulties in ToronSea? How does he justify or excuse his actions and judgments? Is Kien truly justified by doing what is right in his own opinion?
How does the Infinite ultimately reveal His love and concern for Kien despite Kien’s failures? Do you sense your Creator’s love and concern for you as you face difficult situations or spiritual struggles?
What signs does the Infinite give to Adar-iyr’s citizens to warn them of their impending destruction? Why does He warn them? How would you react if you were a citizen of Adar-iyr?
What is Kien’s main spiritual obstacle in Adar-iyr? Does the Infinite give Kien guidelines or encouragement to successfully complete his mission?
Throughout the book, Ela repeatedly faces enemies and situations requiring forgiveness. Do you believe she models the Infinite’s love and mercy as she confronts these situations?
What spiritual differences between Adar-iyr and Parne determine the differing outcomes in each city? If you were a prophet, which situation would you rather face, and why?
Do Kien and Ela sacrifice personal goals or passions to fulfill their work? Why? What do your own personal sacrifices reveal about you spiritually?
Has Kien’s spiritual outlook changed by the time he returns home? Has his relationship with the Infinite changed? What does he now believe about his Creator and his own life?
What do you believe is the Infinite’s prime motivation in Judge? In our own lives?
R. J. Larson is the author of numerous devotionals featured in publications such as Women’s Devotional Bible and Seasons of a Woman’s Heart. She lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado, with her husband and their two sons. Prophet and Judge mark her debut in the fantasy genre.
Poison? Yes, it must be. Blisters bubbled in Ela’s mouth. Searing pain scorched its way down her throat. Courtiers and guards closed about them now, some calling for physicians, others kneeling beside the king, whose usually healthy complexion turned waxen. Little Barth cried out and writhed against her. Prill and Tamri supported each other, gasping as if burning alive, and no wonder. Her own stomach seemed on fire.
Ela snatched the branch from the mat, pleading, “Infinite, what must we do?”
An image flashed within her thoughts, sped by a ferocious mental nudge from her Creator. Hurry!
Battling faintness, Ela grabbed a round of flatbread from Tamri’s dish. The instant she lifted the bread, Ela saw the branch flare, its blue-white fire spreading through her and into the loaf. Frantic, Ela tore the still-glowing bread in two and thrust one half at Akabe. “Eat! Quickly!”
The king obeyed.
Ela dropped the branch and ripped off pieces of bread for Barth, Tamri, Prill, and herself.
In obvious pain, her chaperones snatched the bits of bread and crammed them into their mouths.
While Ela lifted Barth, she swallowed her own bite of bread. It went down her raw throat, quenching the poison’s fire. Ela shoved a piece of bread into Barth’s mouth. He squirmed and fought. “Chew!” Ela ordered. “Barth, swallow the bread—please!”
The little boy wailed. Ela covered his mouth to prevent the bread from falling out. Holding him, she begged, “Eat the bread. Barth! Swallow the bread, and the Infinite will save you!”
She felt his jaw clench. Barth gulped audibly, opened his eyes, and chirped, “I feel better!”
As the onlooking courtiers laughed and exclaimed their relief, Ela hugged Barth and kissed his soft cheek. Infinite, thank You! But she trembled inwardly. Someone had tried to kill the king. With four of his subjects—one a child. Infinite? Who would do such a thing?
No answer.
Ela turned to the king. Thankfully, Akabe’s complexion was no longer ashen. He shook off his fussing attendants. “I’m well. I give you my word. Step back, all of you.” To Ela he said, “Prophet, thank you.”
She rocked Barth. “Thanks to the Infinite, sir. I’m grateful you’re alive—that we’ve all survived.”
Barth snuggled into Ela’s arms, seeming content. Until the king commanded him, “On your feet, young sir. We must return to the palace. Your lord-father ought to see you’re well before rumors reach him that you were . . . ill.”
“He won’t mind,” Barth argued. But he stood. A grim-faced official in sweeping crimson robes nudged the child toward the steps, to the royal cavalcade of horses in the street below. Akabe departed as well, surrounded by his anxious men.
As the crowd around them thinned, Ela grabbed Tamri and Prill’s hands. “You’re not too shaken?”
“Oh, no.” Prill’s mouth pursed testily. “Just another day tending our little prophet!”
“Sorry,” Ela muttered.
Tamri’s grandmotherly face crinkled as she smiled. “Well, we’re alive for now, my girl. Do you suppose it’s safe to finish our food?”
“Yes. I’m certain only that single pitcher was poisoned.”
“The king’s men took it with them,” Prill observed. “No doubt they mean to test it.”
“Yes, no doubt.” Ela reached for her dish. Someone had kicked it, spilling half her food on the mat. She picked up scattered bits of bread and vegetables until a gruff voice stopped her.
“Prophet?”
Ela looked up. Two crimson-badged officials stared
down at her, their expressions as unmoving as masks. The gruff-voiced one said, “Will you answer a few questions?”
She nodded and set down her dish. So much for eating.
“Huh.” Akabe studied the dead flies floating in the gold bowl on his council table. “It’s the most effective fly poison I’ve ever seen.”
Unamused, his counselors stared at him, then at the bowl again. Lord Faine rested his broad, ring-garnished hands on the table. “How did your enemies know so quickly you’d be at the site today?”
“How indeed?” Akabe sat back in his chair. The celebration and his appearance were planned only this week after he’d signed the land contract. “Is there a spy in my household?”
Faine sighed. “We must redouble our surveillance and your guards. Majesty, this is the second attempt on your life within the past seven months.”
“I’m well aware of that fact, my lord. My knife-wound from last year and this morning’s blisters have made the dangers abundantly clear. What are you suggesting?”
Faine hesitated, his delicacy at odds with his blunt face. “You need an heir. We’ve agreed you must marry.”
“But have I agreed?” Akabe studied his council member’s faces. To a man, they were nodding, deathly serious.
“Yes, sir, you must.” Faine harrumphed, adding with an awkward cough, “Duty.”
“Ah.” Duty. Perfect reason to marry. Nothing could be less inspiring to a prospective wife, Akabe was sure. “Do you believe there’s a young lady somewhere in Siphra who is brave enough to live in this marble inconvenience of a palace—with a man who is clearly marked for death by assassins?” While they blinked at his acidity, Akabe continued, “Should we also warn her that she’d be sentenced to a life of cold food, perpetual gossip, and endless ceremonies? Surrounded—forgive me, my lords—by packs of staring royal courtiers who’d follow her to the privy to discuss business?”
His council members shifted guilty glances here and there. Faine attempted a joke. “Majesty, you make life in the royal court sound so uncomfortable.”
