“In the flesh,” he said with a mournful half-smile.
“But…they said you died ten years ago. Th—there was a burial. There is even a statue made in your honor that sits in the city center of Aksahri. The entire realm mourned your loss. How are you…how?” She stopped trying to find the right question to ask, because there wasn’t one. “Why would the rulers declare you dead when you clearly are not?”
Doraan looked at his missing leg, shoulders sagging with the grief of all he had lost, of all he wished to get back, and sighed, “I mean what would have happened if they told Aksahri'our son was cursed by a Sorceress’? My father’s entire rule has been dedicated to forcing the Sorcerers out of Emmoria and saving the Ungifted from being enslaved to them. To tell the people that he had been bested by one would have been political suicide. It would have caused kingdom-wide chaos. If the Emperor couldn’t even keep his only son and heir from a Sorcerer’s grasp, how could he save all of them? How could he rule?”
The more he thought about it, the more what his parents did made sense. They needed the people to believe he had died in some tragic accident because his father’s entire rule was at stake. But that didn’t mean it still didn't hurt. And it didn’t forgive the fact that they could have still tried to help him. He supposed the fact that his father hadn’t selected an heir in his stead meant something—perhaps they were still hoping for his miraculous return from the dead.
Kamira cast her eyes to the floorboards, her gaze absentminded and distant until her head suddenly popped up. “Do you agree with your father? That sorcery should no longer exist?”
Doraan had thought about that many times over the years. His mind constantly jumped back and forth between hatred and kindness toward them, especially when he thought back to his mother’s fondness for Sorcerers and how she told him most of the Gifted didn’t want to harm, but help. However, the only experience he ever had with a Sorcerer proved his mother wrong, and he didn’t think he would ever get past it. Cruelty and sorcery were the same in his mind, and no matter how much he had once loved his mother and trusted her every word, she had proved to be just as cruel as the Sorceress that cursed him. He had expected his father to cast him off, uncaring whether he returned or not, but not his mother. Now that he had seen the truth, it was like a beacon illuminated the reality of his situation and guided him to his rightful path. He would break the curse, go home, overthrow his pig of a father, and finish what his father never could—eradicating the Sorcerers from Emmoria once and for all.
He looked Kamira in the eyes and said, “Look at what good sorcery has done to me.” He motioned around the small quarters and then to his missing limb. “I believe Sorcerers are nothing more than a stain on our Empire, one that needs to be washed away completely for Emmoria and its people to thrive.”
Kamira bristled at his words and turned away. He knew what he said was harsh—to destroy an entire population of people would never be his first choice—but the hard truth was that Sorcerers were too dangerous, and unfortunately, the only way to get rid of them was to execute every last one.
“You don’t think there is a way for them to coexist with us?” she asked quietly.
“How can you coexist with people you can never fully trust? We have no defenses against their powers. The only thing we can do to fight against them is to kill them so they can never use their abilities again.”
Kamira’s face fell. This world they lived in was vicious and he knew that the people of his realm never truly felt safe. They were in a constant state of agitation, the entire Empire was full of unrest, and it was only a matter of time before things escalated into civil war. The evidence of that had just sailed past them, and he would do anything to prevent war from happening.
“Kamira.” Doraan cleared his throat, but she didn’t look up at him. Her eyes were fixed on a small piece of frayed thread sticking out of her trousers that she was twirling around a finger. He waited, but when she still didn’t look at him, he sighed and continued, “The safety of Emmoria is the reason why I need to make contact with the Brothers of the Spring of Zjanoak.”
She snorted, still not looking up from the small piece of thread. “What can the Brothers do to help you keep the entire Empire safe? They are just a cult of idiotic zealots who believe in things that never even existed.”
Doraan’s eyes grew wide at the vehemence in her tone. “I need help in figuring out how to break this curse. It’s the only way I can go home and help them.”
“And you think the Brothers will know how? You sound just as foolish as them.”
Doraan frowned. Her entire demeanor had changed. She had become closed off and distant, acting as if talking to him was painful for her.
“Are you alright?” he asked, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
She stiffened under his touch before shaking him off. “Yes, I’m fine. So tell me, why do you think the Brothers can do anything for you?” She finally looked into his eyes. The normal teal of her irises had turned gray and stormy. She didn’t seem to harbor the same dislike for sorcery as he did.
Hopefully their difference of opinion didn’t change her mind about seeking out the Brothers for information. That would certainly make things more difficult for him. He fumbled with the idea of telling her the truth or fabricating a story to keep her compliant. In the end, the truth was always the better option, he supposed.
“I believe they know the location of the Temple of Gorria.”
Kamira furrowed her brow, nostrils flaring. “Why?”
“It’s well-known that they worship the Sorcerers as children of the gods. They know everything and anything there is to know about Sorcerers, and the only way to break this bleeding curse is through a Sorcerer.” He was growing agitated, almost as if her change of mood was rubbing off on him. He didn’t want to seek out the Temple, but he had to out of necessity, out of survival.
“They’re lunatics!” Kamira laughed, a hard sound without any humor. “Nothing they say can be believed. They will probably tell you the Temple is in the bloody center of Aksahri, right under your father’s nose.” She almost spat those last words.
Doraan closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall behind him. He could feel his temper rising. He took a few calming breaths before saying in an even tone, “Will you help me or not?”
Kamira stared silently at the wall where a small painting hung, depicting a beautiful field of wildflowers, white capped mountains along the horizon, and a setting sun that cast the whole scene in a warm shade of amber. When he was first cursed, he would stare at that painting and weep, knowing he would never be able to run through a field like that in his lifetime. He had never even been outside the sands of Aksahrian and was barely able to leave the palace most of the time. He always longed to travel the realm and experience the different atmospheres and cultures, but now all he could do was look at them from afar and imagine what it was like in those cities.
He had nearly given up hope on Kamira answering and was about to ask her to leave him alone in his room for a while when she suddenly said, “I’ll help you.”
Doraan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“You’d be wise to not give me the option of backing out, Doraan.”
He chuckled, but noticed how her shoulders sagged and the sad frown etched across her face.
“Look, you don’t have to agree with my views, but you have to understand that my entire life was completely flipped upside down and shoved into a deep dark hole because of sorcery. I cannot allow such terrible acts of hatred to be cast on anyone else in Emmoria. This will end with me.”
