The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) (45 page)

67

Another day of waiting for news of Rogan passed, another day of setting the city to rights.

Ella sat on her bed holding a note in her hands. The paper was heavy and edged with gold. Her hands shook and her heart raced, thudding in her ears with a steady beat.

Ella’s hands fell down to her lap, and she closed her eyes.

For a long time she fought to calm her breathing as she thought about the message.

Hearing a knock on the door, she opened her eyes and called out. “Come in.”

Miro entered, and Ella immediately came to her feet. His face was pale and filled with anguish.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Rogan,” Miro said. “I think you should come now.”

Putting the note aside, Ella followed her brother along the
marble
-floored corridors of the palace to an antechamber.

Dread sank into Ella’s stomach as she looked at the door to
the nex
t room, where the healers had been tending Rogan. S
unlight shon
e through the open window, but the mood was
somber
.

Amelia spoke in low tones to a middle-aged woman, evidently a healer, with a satchel over her shoulder and blood on her smock. Bartolo stared out the window with Shani by his side, her arm clutched protectively around her husband. Ilathor and Jehral stood together in a corner, their heads close together. Lady Alise made way for Miro and Ella to enter.

All eyes turned to the two newcomers as they approached.

Ella felt sudden fear clutch at her chest as she saw their
expressions
.

“What’s . . . what’s happening?”

“He wants to speak with you,” Miro said, his eyes indicating the closed door. “You need to go in.”

Ella met Amelia’s red eyes and fought to control her ragged
emotions
. Ella drew in a slow, steady breath, exhaling before
breathing
in again.

“Go,” Miro said.

Ella felt their eyes on her as she crossed the room. The dozen paces were suddenly an interminable march, each footstep an effort. She reached forward to touch the handle and pushed the door open, eyes on the floor as she entered the room and closed the door behind her.

Ella smelled the sweet stench of sickness.

She lifted her eyes.

The room was dark and the curtains were closed; only a nightlamp activated at the lowest setting giving Ella enough light to see by.

Tables lined the wall, and Ella fought an involuntary gasp as she saw bloody bandages and flasks of brown liquid. The sole other piece of furniture was a bed.

Rogan Jarvish lay on the bed.

He looked old, older than Ella had ever thought he could appear. The pallor of his skin matched his gray hair, and he appeared to be having difficulty breathing.

Ella couldn’t fight it anymore. She sobbed and fell to her knees beside the bed.

“Ella,” Rogan whispered. “You’ve changed.”

“I’m still the same,” Ella said through her tears.

“I know,” he said. “I’ve been watching you since you were small. Even though you never knew it, I’ve watched you grow. Your mother and I were friends. We spoke about you together. She loved you with a burning passion. She wanted you to have a normal, happy life, even if it meant she couldn’t be with you. Through her, I came to know you. I came to love you.”

Ella felt tears spill out of her eyes, streaming down the sides of her cheeks. She breathed in gasps between sobs and couldn’t control herself no matter how hard she tried.

“Take my hand,” Rogan said.

Ella looked over his body for the first time. The blankets came up to his waist, but Rogan’s chest was black with oxidized blood, evil darkness spreading through the cloth wrappings around hi
s tors
o.

Ella reached forward and took Rogan’s hand. His palm and fingers were cold, though the room was warm.

“Don’t cry,” Rogan said.

Ella wiped at her cheeks with her free hand. “Is it bad?”

“I’ve taken worse.” Rogan’s voice was hoarse. “But that was as a younger man. We all grow, and we all age.”

Ella knew Rogan as an indomitable force. Her breathing ran ragged as Rogan closed his eyes for a time, and then he opened them again.

“Do you believe that with age comes wisdom?” Rogan asked.

“Sometimes,” Ella said.

Rogan tried to laugh but fell into a coughing fit. Ella wondered if she should fetch help and started to rise, but Rogan’s surprisingly firm grip pulled her back down.

“That’s you, lass. Always one to tell the truth. You’re right; I wasn’t wise to fight, not with Amelia and Tapel to take care of. But here I am.”

“If you didn’t fight, Miro could be dead on the battlefield,” Ella said. “Rogan . . . thank you. I’m so sorry.”

“Enough of that.” Rogan sighed. “Listen, lass. I have something important to say. Will you heed me?”

“I . . . I will,” Ella said.

Ella’s vision closed in as sadness overwhelmed her. She realized Rogan was saying good-bye.

“I may not always be wise, but I know you. I know you
sometimes
better than you know yourself.” Rogan broke off with another cough. “Occasionally, Ella, you have to take a chance on life. You grew up an orphan, and you were all alone in the world when Brandon died. You’ve always accomplished everything on your own; you had no other choice. You’re brave and intelligent, but you’re also a fool and a coward.”

Rogan’s words shocked her. He wasn’t holding back. “I’m sorry,” Ella said through her tears.

“Don’t be sorry,” said Rogan. “You haven’t had an easy life. I want you to do something for me. Talk to Killian, Ella. Tell him the truth. Tell him all those things he doesn’t know about you, the secrets that you think are yours alone. Then let him talk, and listen, girl—listen well. Will you do that for me?”

Ella nodded.

“Good,” Rogan said. “Come here.” He kissed Ella’s cheek, and she kissed his in return, feeling his skin cold on her lips. “I love you, girl, as does your brother, and all your friends. But there are different kinds of love. There is the love a man bears for his woman, and the love a parent bears for a child. You need to find that out.”

Rogan drew a shaky breath, and Ella saw tears gleam at the corners of his eyes.

“Now go,” Rogan said.

Ella stood and looked down at him. “Rogan,” she whispered, “I love you too.”

“I know,” he said.

Ella left the room and closed the door behind her. Her vision was a blur between her tears, and she was barely aware of crossing the room to stand beside Shani and Bartolo. Shani took Ella’s hand, her face filled with concern.

Miro entered the room after Ella, and he was gone a long time.

He finally came out and looked at Amelia. “He wants to speak with you,” Miro said.

Amelia entered to speak with her husband, and she was also gone for a long time. Finally, Amelia came back out of the room. She looked at Ella, and her reddened eyes met Ella’s for a moment.

Ella gasped as Amelia shook her head.

“Please, everyone leave,” Amelia said. “I want to be alone with him now.”

68

“Shani,” Bartolo said as he entered their room and closed the door behind him.

“Hello, soldier,” Shani said, arching an eyebrow. Lying on the bed, she raised her burgundy dress to her upper thigh. “What is it? Come to give homage to the goddess of love?”

Bartolo sat next to his wife on the bed. “I want to be serious.”

Shani sighed and sat up to sit cross-legged beside him on the bed.

Bartolo took a deep breath. “We need to talk.”

“Here we go.” Shani rolled her eyes.

“Please, Shani, this is hard enough as it is.” Bartolo took Shani’s hands in his own. “The war is over. Where are we going to go? I have a life in Altura, and you have a life in Petrya. Which will it be? I don’t want to be apart from you anymore. Frequent visits aren’t enough. The position of blademaster is there for me in Altura, if I want it. No one else can do it.”

“Blademaster?” Shani said.

Bartolo nodded. “There are recruits who need training. Altura needs bladesingers. After the war with the primate, we never regained the numbers we once had. One day we may face another enemy, and we need to be prepared.”

“Do you think it would be difficult for a bladesinger to wear the cuffs of an elementalist?” Shani grinned.

“Shani, please, I’m trying to be serious.”

“So am I. Perhaps we could both be teachers. It’s about time we began to share lore between the houses.”

“But can you leave your homeland?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

“Shani!”

“I’m playing with you, bladesinger. You make it too easy.”

“Just speak plainly. Will you come to live with me in Sarostar?”

“Listen,” Shani said gravely. “I love my homeland. But Petrya’s a harsh land, and change will only come about slowly. They’re talking about building a new road to properly connect Altura and Halaran to Petrya, rather than using that treacherous Wondhip Pass.”

Bartolo nodded. “Of course I would expect you to visit your homeland, and I’d come with you. I want to get to know your lands, just as I want you to come to know mine.”

“There’s also something else we’ll need to consider,” Shani said. “Petrya’s no place to raise a child.”

She met Bartolo’s eyes, gazing at him meaningfully as she smiled broadly. Bartolo looked at her and frowned in puzzlement, and then his eyes widened. His mouth dropped open, and he looked down at Shani’s belly and then up at her.

Shani nodded.

Bartolo’s grin spread slowly across his face, dimpling his cheeks and crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “I’m going to be a . . .”

“Yes,” Shani said.

Bartolo’s deep laugh rumbled throughout the palace.

69

Jehral stood at the highest point of the Imperial Palace, feeling the wind on his cheeks and gazing out at the sea. He ran his eyes over the rebuilding already underway at the docks and lifted his stare to scan the still waters, eventually resting on the empty island where once the Sentinel had barred the harbor. The great statue was gone now, and no one, not even the emperor himself, knew where it was. Stone blocks surrounded the pedestal. The air was warm, but the eerie emptiness of the island made him shiver.

Jehral thought about the Empire’s future. As he gazed at the placid harbor, fishing boats appeared as if out of nowhere,
heading
out to make a day’s catch, and the scene was of such wonderful
normalcy
that Jehral watched their white sails for a long time.

He turned, suddenly feeling a strong desire to look west, though the desert was far from this place. The Wall was gone, and rumor had it that the emperor was going to leave it that way. The Wall had long been a symbol of suppression; the last emperor had executed dissidents by throwing them from its summit. Seranthia, as capital of the Empire of Merralya, was going to be an open city.

Past the city’s perimeter, patrols of soldiers were returning while others headed out to take their place. Several plumes of smoke indicated where the bodies of the revenants were being burned in piles. The fallen of all the houses were being gathered, and a new graveyard was going to come into being just outside the city.
Everyone
had lost someone they loved; yet the Empire had endured. The war with the Evermen was over.

Behind him, Jehral heard a throat clear.

Ilathor stood watching him with a strange expression on his face, an apprehensive cast that Jehral had never seen before. The kalif had recovered from his wounds, and he now stood proud and tall. His cloak of black and yellow billowed in the breeze and he stroked the carefully trimmed beard on his chin as he opened his mouth to speak and then closed it.

“Kalif.” Jehral bowed with a flourish.

“Jehral . . . may I speak with you, my friend? Are you . . . busy?”

Jehral fought to hide an expression of bemusement. “I know it may appear that way,” he said with a wry grin, “but my time is yours. Of course we can speak, Kalif.”

“I am just Ilathor today, my friend. I have come . . . to ask you something.”

Jehral nodded. “Yes, we are all packed and ready to go. We will have to travel home overland, but there are many here who will share our journey for a time.”

“No,” Ilathor said. He hesitated. “It is something else.”

“Ahh,” Jehral said. “You have come to ask me about the
signaling
system. The emperor has agreed to keep it in place. In fact, he has some ideas for supplementing it. The artificers of Loua Louna have agreed to attack the problem and work with the Alturan enchanters. Combining the lore of the houses, we may be able to devise a new system of instant communication.”

“No, my friend.” Ilathor’s expression grew pained. “I wish to speak with you about something else.”

“What is it, Kalif?” Jehral said, spreading his hands.

Ilathor’s expression said he could finally see the twinkle in
Jehral’s
eye.

“You are making sport with me?” Ilathor wondered, shaking his head.

“I am.” Jehral laughed. “I know why you are here. Yes, of course you can marry my sister, my friend. I look forward to calling you brother.”

Ilathor grinned, a childish smile Jehral had never seen before, and the two men embraced. “And I you, brother.”

They drew apart and Ilathor’s expression once more grew
sincere
. “There is one other matter. I have one final request to make.”

This time Jehral didn’t know what Ilathor was going to say.

“The Alturans have the concept of a lord marshal. He is a ruler’s closest advisor and ranks above the other nobles. He tells the truth when it needs to be told. The title catches on my lips, however. I prefer to use a word that already exists among us: vizier. Will you be my vizier, Jehral? Together there is nothing we cannot achieve. Please say yes.” Ilathor drew back when he saw Jehral hesitate. “What is it?”

Jehral struggled to frame his thoughts. “You want me to tell the truth when it needs to be told?”

“Yes, Jehral. That is what I want.”

“Then, Ilathor, sometimes you are a fool. Your heart takes over your mind, and you are brave, but sometimes it takes more than courage to win the day.”

The kalif’s brow darkened and he scowled, ready to speak words of anger. Then, as quickly as they’d come, the lines left his forehead and he grinned.

“I asked you for the truth.” Ilathor smiled wryly.

Jehral realized what he’d said. “I apologize, Kalif. I should not have . . .”

Ilathor held up his hand. “Yes, you should. Always speak your mind, brother. I will not always agree with you, but I will listen.”

“Then yes,” Jehral said. “I will be your vizier.”

The two men looked westward for a time. The summer sun was hot, and in the far distance, heat waves shimmered from the hills.

“Come, Jehral. Let us make preparations to go from this place. The desert awaits.”