Breaking the Gloaming (30 page)

As more celebrating broke out, I asked Justus where Father Yates was. His smile disappeared and his face went pale.

“Father Yates is dead,” he said.
 

“
What?
”
 

“His body was found this morning,” Justus replied. “He was murdered. I am so sorry.”

My throat clenched. Tears filled my eyes. Justus had his hand on my shoulder, holding me up.

“He left you a note,” Justus explained as he looked into the crowd and pointed to an old woman behind him. 

She walked forward. She was an old nun in a black robe. Her eyes were bloodshot.

“This woman would not let go of it,” Justus said.

Resolve was plain on her weathered face. She held out a rolled paper. “Father Yates wanted me to give this to you.” The paper had the priest’s seal.

“What is your name?” I had seen her before.
 

“My name is Petra. I served Father Yates for many years.” She spoke his name with love. “I was his helper.”
 

“Thank you, Petra.” In a moment like this, Yates would have looked pain in the face and honored the loss.

“Soon,” I told Petra, “we will celebrate our victory today, and we will honor our losses, at a feast in the palace’s grand hall. You will have a place of honor, the place where Father Yates would have sat.”

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and mine, as she nodded.

I turned to face the crowd. It was quiet as a thousand eyes looked on me. I lifted my arms and shouted. “For Valemidas!”

“For Valemidas!” they answered. 

The chant was repeated as I began to make my way through the crowd. My knights helped form a path between the people. Arms and hands reached out for me. Some were singing, dancing. Shouts of joy rang out. It was the happiest I had seen the Valemidans since my first coronation.

Our long walk led us to the stairs to the palace, where the crowds stopped. Jon and Justus climbed the stairs at my sides. I yearned to go to Lorien, but I could not wait any longer to read Yates’ note. 

The three of us reached the top of the stairs and entered the palace gate. I walked to the garden and the amphitheater beside the main tower’s wall, where I had deposed Tryst. Jon and Justus kept their distance as I sat on the top bench of cool stone, looking down on the throne backed against the wall below.
 

I took a deep breath, pulled out the note, and read it.

Andor,

If you are reading this, I have finished the race and arrived in heaven. Remember my broadest smile. That is how I look down on you now.

I believe you will have won the duel. I have long worked for this justice. Sebastian, his father, his cousin the king—the family that killed your family in Sunan—their unrepented evil will find no mercy. 

Now heed my words. You must not let betrayal ruin your ability to trust. All men will fail, just as you have failed. You murdered in the Gloaming. You abandoned Tryst and hundreds of others there. You have sinned just as we all have, just as I have. We are born with the taint of darkness in our souls, and there is nothing we can do to rid ourselves of it. All we can do is believe in the light that overcomes our darkness.
 

Do not heed any temptation to give up your authority over Valemidas and Sunan. I believe the peace of these nations must begin with you, for only you have the blood of both and the ability to unite them. You may appoint others to rule as your stewards, but ultimate authority must remain in you until you die.
 

We may yet live in paradise together. Imagine a village nestled in remote foothills, the greenest you have ever seen. You walk with your wife and children down a path lined by ancient pines. The night sky is majestic. The path leads to an open glen, where all your friends await. We eat, drink, and sing. We fear no outside forces. There are no princes, no nobles, no rank, no unmet need. There will be only god’s light at our center, giving us life.
 

Stay the course, my prince,
 

Father Yates

Tears ran down my cheeks. I was on my knees as I read the note again.

Soon after that Jon came to my side with urgency.

“My prince,” he said. “You must come now. Lorien is in labor. She will give birth soon.”

I tucked the message into my cloak and ran to her.

Chapter 32

VICTORY IN DEFEAT

“In the course of history
 

two factors are important.
 

One is the preservation
 

of a people, a state,
 

of the well-ordered spheres of life.
 

The other important factor, however,
 

is the decline of a state.
 

The existence of a national spirit
 

is broken when it has used up
 

and exhausted itself.”

The day after the duel, Cid had watched the Valemidans bury their dead in the afternoon. Now, as night fell, he approached the Sunan camp, where they would burn their dead.

He walked through the rows of tents. Some of the men carried armfuls of wood, while others sat in the sand talking quietly. Cid had never seen Sunan soldiers so somber and listless.

He blew warm air into his hands and rubbed them together. It would be good to sail away from this winter. Andor had appointed him captain of the first fleet returning to Sunan. If anyone else had asked him, Cid would have declined. But he would obey Andor. Captain Alcibiades it was.

Eight funeral pyres rose before him on the shore—one for each of the dead men from the duel, plus one for Sebastian. His Excellency’s pyre was at the center, dwarfing the others and even the Sunan vessels behind them. Torches and men formed a huge ring around the ominous structures. 

Cid figured the cutting and hauling of all this wood had helped keep the Sunan army busy. It was good to let them work out their pain and frustration, but what a shame to waste so much wood, especially when they needed more ships for the second voyage back.

That reminded Cid of his meeting with Andor this morning. Ilias had called the meeting, and had asked Cid and an old archivist named Finniel to join them. At first Andor, who looked like he had not slept in a week, had balked at Ilias’s suggestion that half the Sunan army remain in Valemidas for the winter and spring. But then Ilias had added that provision for the men and a new fleet of ships to carry them home, joined by a thousand Valemidan migrants, might be considered to wipe clean the debt and restore balance between the nations. Andor had agreed.
 

Cid put thoughts of migrants and fleets behind him as he drew closer to the largest pyre. He saw Ilias and Malam standing before it. Cid had not seen Malam since the duel.
 

“Room here for another?” Cid asked.

“Captain Alcibiades, it would be an honor.” Ilias turned to him with a welcoming smile tinged with sadness.

Malam’s face held only darkness. “Who are you betraying this time?” His voice was like venom.

“You are the one who killed my family and left my daughter Jezebel as a concubine,” Cid snapped back. He no longer needed to feign patience with Malam and his sect. 

“Where is she now?” Cid posed his question to Ilias.

“She is serving faithfully,” Malam answered, “just as I will. Watch and you will see.”
 

The priest pulled one of the large torches from the ground and waved it above his head. The streaks of flame arced through the cold air like a shooting star. He looked like a maniac.

At the far sides of the ring of men and torches, soldiers began to step forward and light the pyres. The smaller piles went up in blazing light within moments.

“Where is my daughter?” Cid repeated, pulling at Ilias’ arm to gain his attention. He was afraid of what he might hear.

Ilias shrugged. “I do not know, Cid.”

“Follow me,” Malam sneered, “and you can join us while we burn with His Excellency’s body.” Malam stepped forward with his torch.
 

Cid looked up and saw a dozen figures kneeling low on the pyre. “No!” Cid shouted, pulling at Malam’s cloak. “You cannot do this.”

Malam yanked his cloak out of Cid’s hand. “She is His Excellency’s now, not yours. We serve our god through death.” His half-smile showed sadistic glee. He swung his torch at Cid, making him leap back.
 

Cid glanced at the ring of Sunans. “Help me!” he shouted. He did not wait for an answer. He charged after Malam.

The priest had already lit the base of the pyre and now was climbing fast up it. Three other men had lit the other sides. Fire began to lick up the pyre’s edges.

Cid had to jump over the low flames as he followed Malam. The priest reached the top just before Cid.

Malam was still holding the torch, standing over the dead king’s body. A group was bowed down around him. All of them wore black robes from head to toe. Malam began chanting and the group stood. A woman was at Malam’s side. It was Jezebel.

Cid charged forward as Malam held the torch to the wood under His Excellency’s body. Cid grabbed his daughter’s arm and pulled her away.
 

Malam grabbed her other arm. “
E’le teduha e dumol?
” Malam asked her passionately.
Who do you love and serve?
 

“
Ilir Sunan ada
,” the men recited in response.
 

Jezebel said nothing. Her face was blank, but her eyes glowed in the firelight.

“This is not a choice.” Cid slammed his fist into Malam’s gut and followed with another blow to his head. The priest fell into the flames. He screamed as fire engulfed his body.

Cid hauled his daughter up onto his shoulder. She was crying, but did not resist.
 

Smoke was flooding into his lungs, and a wall of flames surrounded him. He picked the side that looked the least ablaze and ran at the fire.
 

Adrenalin coursed through him as he leapt into the orange heat. He and Jezebel landed on the bottom edge of the pyre. Something in his ankle snapped and they fell. Their clothes were burning. They both rolled on the sand until the fire was gone.

Screams filled the night sky as Cid staggered to his feet and pulled Jezebel up. They were covered in sand, their clothes half burned off.
 

“Your face,” Jezebel said through sobs.

Cid reached up to touch his face and stopped short. His skin was in seering pain. Burned.

He put his hand on his daughter’s flawless, unharmed cheek. She was magnificent before him, the fire raging behind her.

Ilias and others came rushing to their sides. “Bring cool water and salves!” the priest ordered. He studied Cid’s burns. “It will leave scars, but it will heal.”
 

“It was worth every scar,” Cid said.

The priest turned to Jezebel. “Malam has showed us what leads to death. Our new leader will show us what leads to life.”
 

Jezebel nodded. She had stopped weeping.

“Thank you,” Jezebel said to her father. “I am sorry.”

“No,” Cid answered, “I am sorry. I could blame the world for letting our family die years ago, for making me flee Sunan and leave you there to fend for yourself. But I have been a coward. I wasted years trying to avoid the pain of loss. When I first saw you again, I knew my mistake. I should have come back for you. You should have never been on that pyre.
I
am sorry.”

“I lived to serve His Excellency,” she said, “and I did everything he wanted. I have shamed our family.” She bit her lower lip. It reminded Cid of her mother.

“You did what you could to survive. There is no shame in that, except for my fault in leaving you on your own.” Cid held his arms open wide. “Please, forgive me.”

She fell into his arms, her head pressing into his shoulder. After a long moment there, she lifted her head and looked into his wounded face. “You too did what you could to survive, and you saved me. I forgive you.”

Cid winced at the pain of salty tears on his cheeks. “Your eyes,” Cid said, “they look just like your mother’s.”

Jezebel laughed.
 

It was the sweetest sound Cid had ever heard.

Chapter 33

EPILOGUE

“The sunrise shall visit us from on high

to give light to those who sit in darkness
 

and in the shadow of death,

to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

Two weeks after the duel, the victory, and the birth, Lorien had finally begun to think clearly again. The fog of fatigue was lifting from her mind.
 

She peered down at the baby boy in her arms. He was perfect, whole and healthy, nursing and growing. She and Andor had named him Yates.

It was not without difficulty that she handed him off to the maid. He hardly budged in his sleep. She took one last glance in the mirror, smoothed the blue silk of her gown, and walked out of her quarters for the first time since Yates was born. This was a celebration she could not miss.

Andor was waiting outside the door. “Are you ready?” The pain was gone from his voice. The weight had fallen from his shoulders.

“I will serve my prince.” She smiled up at him. “But are you ready?”

“I will serve my people.” He smiled back. “And Yates?”

“Sleeping like a baby,” Lorien said. “How about Wren? Did you speak with him?”

“Yes,” Andor said. “He wants to remain a merchant, but he will accept whatever position comes as Ravien’s husband.”

Lorien laughed. “A good pair.”

They talked warmly as they walked to the banquet hall. Valemidans and Sunans would feast together. No celebration such as this had gathered since Tryst’s coronation over a year before. Ilias had chosen the Sunan guests, men who would accept tonight’s announcement and help persuade other Sunans of its wisdom. Lorien hoped it would be enough.