There was a wooden bookcase lying broken on the floor, surrounded by books that had turned to mold from the winds and rain that had made it inside the chamber over the years. Arienne triedto lift the bookcase upright, but it refused to budge. She sat on it instead. It was less cold than the stone floor. She took off her boots and wrapped herself from the neck down in a blanket. She couldn’t risk lighting a fire, but even just drying her feet made her feel much warmer.
She found herself idly thinking of the soft bed and the thick sheets she had at the dormitory. There at the school, her life had been comfortable, safe, and predictable… Then she shuddered at the thought. She was not the kind of person to trade freedom for a bit of comfort. At least, she was determined not to be.
Eldred said,“What do you plan to do now?”
“Hide here until tomorrow morning and go out onto the main road through the forest once the sun comes up. In two days, I can cross the river and enter Marthia. There we can take the smaller local roads to lose whoever follows us.” She answered promptly, recalling the escape route Cain had explained to her.
She could see Eldred nod in her mind.“They probably expect you to be going to Arland. Lysandros is sure to try something overwhelming in the coming days. But we’ll deal with that when it happens.”
“You keep talking about him. Who is he?”
Eldred didn’t answer but lowered his head. Arienne imagined herself into the room in her mind. Nothing had changed with Eldred since the bandages wrapping his head had come off. He spoke when he wanted to and was silent otherwise.
She approached her bookshelf.The Sorcerer of Mersiawas not a book she had owned as a child. It had come here with Eldred. And when Cain had entered this room at Lucretia’s, the book had been there as well. Arienne had no recollection of putting it there. Eldred couldn’t have either, as he couldn’t move his arms.
The book wasn’t on the shelf. Nor on the bed. After a moment of thought, Arienne got on her knees and reached below her bed. Ten-year-old Arienne had hidden her diary there. Her fingers brushed up against something. It wasThe Sorcerer of Mersia.
She gripped the book in her hands. Here was a story that was inside her mind, but a story she did not know. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the texture of the book against her fingertips, imagining the shape of the book. Remembering the impressions in the leather cover. The glint of the gilt lettering. With the book in her hand, she stepped out of the room.
There, sitting on the fallen bookcase on the topmost floor of the tower, Arienne now drew a book from underneath the blanket. It wasThe Sorcerer of Mersia.
19LORAN
Loran’s thoughts were endless as she left the prefect’s castle. The citizens of Kingsworth shouted her name, calling her their princess. But she was awash with dread, not for herself, but for the cheering people.
Gwaharad looked more afraid than furious and was silent as they took the streets toward the city’s exit. When he finally spoke, as they were passing through the south gate, his voice was trembling and low.
“Mistress Loran, a legion has six cohorts, a cohort ten centuries. You vanquished a single century out of sixty such, and saw it fit to execute the prefect. Do you understand what kind of calamity you have brought upon all of us?” Gwaharad threw his right hand back, in the direction of Kingsworth. “To all ofthem?”
Of course Loran understood. It was all she could think about since the moment she set fire to the prefect’s office. She also knewthat once the feeling of victory waned in the city, the people would realize the same thing.
A hand rested on her left shoulder. It was Emere. He had his eyes fixed on the road, with a grim determination that Loran had never seen on his face before.
Why had she done it? Had it been to avenge her family? If so, had she succeeded in that? Could a person become king solely through acts of vengeance? Was what she had done something that was needed to become king?
She looked back at Kingsworth, where her empty home was, where they were still chanting her name. She, a self-proclaimed princess and future king, had betrayed her people to their doom. She could not bear to stay there a moment longer.
Emere whispered, in his calmest voice, “Your Highness, perhaps it would be best if you were to collect your thoughts back at the palace.”
She nodded. At least Emere would be there. She had nowhere else to go.
For the three days it took them to get back to the underground palace, few words were exchanged. Despite the heavy air, a few of the Kamori soldiers tried to congratulate Loran, but the others silently discouraged them.
Once back at the Kamori’s underground base, she didn’t leave her room. Gwaharad didn’t summon her, and only Emere continued to see her, coming by every day for their midday meal. He would tell her the news, but even he avoided talking about the prefect. Loran’s thoughts kept her awake as she lay alone in her bed each night.
The Kamori Liberators declared the battle at Kingsworth avictory, but morale was not high in the underground palace. Reports of the Twenty-Fifth Legion’s movements raised tensions even more. The legion force currently in Arland, having lost a chariot century, had holed themselves up in their fortress, but the main contingent of the Twenty-Fifth was due to arrive any moment. Kamori scouts relayed rumors that a gigatherion was on its way from the Imperial heartland.
Five days after they had returned, Gwaharad declared a feast would be held in honor of their victory. Loran was strongly requested to attend, as the celebration would be awkward without the greatest warrior in that battle.
The mood at the table was far from festive, though, the air full of dread and anxiety. Gwaharad, as if painstakingly curating this mood himself, looked grave throughout the evening and ate almost nothing.
Loran was seated at the far end of the table, away from Gwaharad. The food was of excellent quality considering they were a rebel army at war hiding underground, but Loran was not in the mood for delicacies either.
The banquet wore on, and as the evening grew late, Gwaharad tapped his glass with a spoon. The murmurs subsided.
“The Kamori Liberators have garnered a great victory. We have gone to the aid of our neighbor Arland, driven the Imperial curs from Kingsworth, killed the prefect Hesperus, and raised our glorious name as the true guardian of the Three Kingdoms. We must celebrate!”
It was a self-serving version of the events, but the hall was awash in applause and even some cheers. Loran raised her glass as well. Gwaharad waited until it was silent again to speak.
