“I just make the meals and sing the songs. Whatever happens during the herding is up to the Chief Herder. What could a mere boy of thirteen years have to say about such business?”
He then closed his eyes and began rapping his knuckles on the floor. Yuma stood, bowed deeply, and made her exit. As she crossed the threshold, the Host began to sing in time with the knocking. His voice sounded deeper in song, not like a child’s at all. Her tension melted away, her head cleared. Yuma stood just outside the threshold, thinking of what to do next.
The Host had implied the Grim King might come to collect Lysandros himself. Aidan seemed to think there would be repercussions if they did not deliver the man. If the Host was right, there was no point in keeping the man with them if the Grim Kingwas just going to come for him anyway. Which meant maybe they should turn him over as Aidan said.
To do otherwise would mean they were defying the Grim King’s orders, which was tantamount to treason. It was insubordination and harboring of an enemy spy. And there were at least a thousand youth like Rizona in Danras…
The Grim King had ruled over Danras and Merseh as a whole for five centuries, maybe more. His cruelty was legend. The Grim King was a part of Merseh, as much as the open steppe and the endless sky. A Merseh with no fear of the Grim King—that was a world Yuma could hardly imagine.
Instead, she thought of Rizona again. The dread she had felt when she called her name and received no answer. The saddle soaked in blood. The final words Jed had said to her, with the very last of his strength, that she must run.
The sun had almost set. Far away, two oroxen were dragging the silver giant, or the mechanical horse, or whatever it was really called. A powerful weapon, that’s what it was. Impervious to arrows and swords, a moving fortress. The Empire had entrusted such a machine to a young man who couldn’t stand up on his own. She couldn’t tell yet if this meant the Empire was that great an empire, or if Lysandros was that great a man.
Whichever it might be, wouldn’t treason be worth a try, with such allies?
Yuma came to a decision. She walked down the wooden steps and whistled long and loud for Aston.
16
EMERE
He must’ve dozed off in the dim tavern while waiting for this Devadas, because he was suddenly back on the plains of Arland. Loran stood at a distance and was looking in his direction. Her body was covered in scales. Her wings were half folded. Her left eye was a glowing ball of blue fire.
Emere was entranced.
“Prince Emere, you have finally come.”
The volcano in the horizon wore a halo of light as blue as that in Loran’s eye. Emere stared for a moment before speaking.
“Is this not the same place we met as before?”
Sensing Loran’s gaze was looking past his shoulder, Emere turned around. There was nothing there.
“Prince Emere. When I battled the Twenty-Fifth Legion, where did you find yourself?”
“… Under your orders, I was escorting the sorcerer Arienne to the volcano.”
“Do you regret doing so?”
Regret wasn’t strong enough a word. He despaired for not having fought by Loran’s side on that fateful day. That he had never charged under the banner of the first king who taught him what being a king actually meant. If he could’ve fought on that battleground for that single day, the long years before that would’ve been worth it. Even if it had been a battle in another country and not Kamori… But that was not to be Emere’s fate. He lowered his head.
Loran said, “You are about to meet the king, Prince Emere.”
Had Septima brought him to meet Loran?
“Your Majesty…?”
He took a step toward her but stopped when he saw her slowly shake her head.
“Not me, but the Sleeping King.”
“Who might that be?”
A light shone from Loran. The fire in her left eye had overflowed to cover her whole body. Emere could not take it any longer.
“Why do you keep speaking in riddles?” Emere shouted.
But the only answer he received was another riddle.
