Dren seemed surprised.
“Despite the killings?”
“With the caveat that those who’d committed the crimes would step forward.”
“They declined?”
I nodded. “To accept my rule. To admit to the murders.”
“Then they deserved to die.”
I pressed my palms to my eyes, wishing the Stone’s glow could burn the sight from my memory. “Perhaps. But I take no pride in it. There’s been too much death already.”
Dren frowned. “And there will be more before ’tis done, no doubt. If word spreads of what happened here…”
Standing, I walked forward, toward the men.
“I have no wish to be a ruler my clan fears.”
“Those loyal to your father are not your clan. They are poisoned by hate.”
“Perhaps some can be redeemed,” I mused aloud, thinking of Kael and myself.
Without waiting for Dren to respond, I took the Stone from its pouch and turned it over in my hand. How some could wish for so much power, I didn’t understand. The things that were possible with the Stone of Mor’Vallis should be feared, not revered.
Feeling my strength returning, I joined the men, using my hand to unearth dirt as each of those fallen were carried into their graves with the Stone still in my left hand.
“We will give them this land.”
Dren wasn’t the only one to look at me as if I were mad.
“To honor the guards of Ashwick whose blood was spilled here,” I said, standing straighter. “Ashwick has little fertile ground, and this soil has been marked by their sacrifice. Let their kin plant where hate once rooted.”
Dren’s frown eased slightly, though doubt lingered. “Some will say you gift too freely.”
I touched the Stone, its steady glow warming my palm. “Let them say it. My father ruled by fear. I would rather bind our clans by balance and by justice that even humans can see.”
“Very well.”
“Your majesty?”
It took me a moment to realize it was me being summoned from behind. I turned as the messenger dismounted, his horse clearly spent.
“Aye?” I asked, immediately, and irrationally, thinking something might be wrong with Lyra. “What is it?”
“The king. Of Aetheria,” he clarified.
“What of him?”
“He’s going through the Gate.”
Although every Gyorian warrior who heard the message either froze in surprise or dropped their collective jaws—or both—I said nothing. Before Lyra, I’d have thought King Galfrid unfit to rule, to make such a decision. But now?
I understood it. But the implications of such an act…
“He would leave Aetheria without a ruler?”
Even temporarily, it was unheard of. And if something happened to the Gate after he went through it…
