The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) (4 page)

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 entered 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 wall
s. 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 Alt
ura.

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.

She heard a throat clear behind her, and even as she rehearsed the words she would say, Ella smoothed her expression and turned with a smile on her face. She drew back in surprise when she saw the man who stood facing her.

Ilathor Shanti, kalif of House Hazara, wore a costume both exotic and regal. His loose robe of black and yellow fell away at both sides, revealing a ceremonial dagger stuck into a golden belt. His hair was shorter than Ella remembered, and his sculpted beard was longer. He smiled at Ella, teeth white against his dark skin, but his burning eyes displayed emotion.

“Ella,” Ilathor said, “I need to speak with you. Away from your brother, and away from all these other people.”

“Please, not now,” Ella said.

“Then when?” His brow furrowed, and his voice became firm. “When, Ella?”

“Another time.”

“You have said that before, and this time I will not accept it.” Ilathor shook his head, and then the anger went out of him, and he sighed. “Did you not receive my message? I have a proposition for you, if that is the correct word. I am kalif now, and I have brought my people to greatness. Agira Lahsa is becoming a city to rival any of the other houses. I can give you the life you deserve.”

Ella covered her mouth. “Ilathor . . .”

“Ever since I met you, I have not been able to stop thinking about you. Even amid the madness of the war, you were at the forefront of my mind. I have seen you grow, and I am awed by everything you are and everything you do.” Ella had never seen him like this; Ilathor was a stern man, and this confession must be costing him greatly.

“Since my father died,” he continued, “I have been alone against the world. I need you. I can sense you find it hard to love, but love is a risk. The night we shared in Petrya . . . I have never experienced anything like it . . .”

Ella looked past Ilathor’s shoulder and felt every vestige of blood drain from her face. A man in regal clothing stood behind the kalif of the desert tribes: Killian.

Ella had never seen the expression Killian now wore. The thief from Salvation had a thousand faces. Now she was seeing him raw.

“Is that true?” Killian asked. His eyes narrowed.

Anguish hit her with force, like a stone dropped into her
stomach
, plummeting through her chest, tearing at her insides.

Ilathor whirled as he heard Killian’s voice. Ella couldn’t register Ilathor’s reaction; her eyes were on Killian’s face.

“I will leave you two to talk,” Ilathor said stiffly. He left without another word.

Ella opened her mouth and then closed it.

“Is it true?” Killian demanded. His face was close to hers. His expression was frightening.

“Why would you care?” Ella said. “You couldn’t even make time to see me.”

“My meeting ran over! It’s true, isn’t it?”

“How could you vote against my brother?”

“You’re avoiding the issue.”

“This is more important than us!”

Killian scowled. “What do you want from me? You want me to dedicate everything we have to Altura’s defense? There’s no
guarantee
they’ll make landing there. It’s the Sentinel he wants. I can’t look after you. I have to worry about the needs of all the houses. That’s what an emperor does. I can’t be seen to favor one house over another.” He shook his head, and his red locks tossed from side to side. “How could you? And now you’re asking more of me?”

“You don’t understand,” Ella cried.

“You’re right,” Killian said. “I don’t.”

Miro found Ella sitting with Shani on the stairs in a secluded part of the gallery, their heads close together.

“Ella,” he said softly.

Ella glanced up, and Miro saw that her eyes were red. “What is it?” she asked.

“Kalif Ilathor . . . he’s spoken to me.”

Ella raised her voice. “About what?”

Miro shrugged. “He wants my permission to ask for your hand.”

Ella drew in a sharp breath. “And what did you say?”

Miro smiled. “What do you think I said? It’s your decision
to mak
e.”

“She doesn’t love him,” Shani said.

Miro nodded. “Ella, I have to ask something of you, though, and if that’s the case, you aren’t going to like it.”

“What is it?” Shani demanded.

“Ilathor’s sailing home to Agira Lahsa tomorrow. We have yet to connect Agira Lahsa through the desert to Wondhip Pass so they can be part of our signaling system.” Miro turned his gaze on Shani. “I need Ella to go with Ilathor and see it done.”

“Send someone else,” Shani said flatly.

“I can’t,” Miro said. “Ella,” he implored, “we are in desperate need of allies, and Ilathor is a proud man. Now isn’t the time to refuse him. There’s next to no chance Sentar will make landing in the desert, and we need the Hazarans to agree to come to our aid in Altura. I’m sorry to ask this of you, but I need you to ensure Ilathor’s help. You have to go with him. You won’t have to stay long—just long enough to build the station in Agira Lahsa and continue the chain north to Wondhip Pass. You’ll also need to connect Tlaxor, Petrya’s capital. Please, will you do it—for me?”