Lysandros opened his mouth to say something, but nodded instead, and smiled that beautiful smile again.
19
EMERE
The Office of Truth was trying to take over the Empire. Ludvik was conspiring to become the Imperator. And a man named Cain, trapped in the Circuit of Destiny, wanted to meet Emere because somehow Emere could help stop that from happening.
Emere was having difficulty accepting any part of this situation, and neither Septima nor the other two seemed to know what Emere’s role in all of this would be. The only thing he could hold on to was what Loran had said in his dream vision. Youmust become king. That is your destiny. Destiny passes by those who stand still. Reach out and grasp that which awaits you, up there.
Emere thought of that afternoon he had drunk tea and eaten peaches with Ludvik. A day when it would’ve been unimaginable that that man was trying to kill him. Ludvik had asked Emere what he would do if the Circuit of Destiny had given him the power to decide… Emere had thought this was an idle question at the time, but now he thought differently.
As Septima and her men erased any traces of their presence in the tavern, Emere sat in his chair and stared at the dead Ebrian on the table, and also at the tavern owner, Lukan, who had been tortured by the Office of Truth and become catatonic. In his dream, Loran had told him he would meet the “Sleeping King.” Lukan could be said to be sleeping in a sense, but he did not seem like a king at all.
“And how did you become involved in all this? Do you know who Cain is?” he asked Lukan, not really expecting an answer.
But Lukan’s eyes turned toward Emere. In them, a glint of a landscape unfurled. A red, rough wasteland. Not completely unfamiliar. Where had he seen it before?
The wasteland in the man’s eyes absorbed everything in that dusty tavern: the old chairs and tables, the stink of broth and wine—Emere tried to stand, but his legs wouldn’t listen to him. Deep inside his mind, something trembled.
When his body could move again, he found himself standing in that red wasteland. He realized it resembled the Mersia he had visited in his youth, but here, the sky was a sunless violet twilight. Far away, there was some kind of flock of birds, completely unmoving and floating in the sky. A longing he couldn’t understand gripped his heart.
Maybe he had fallen asleep again while looking into Lukan’s eyes and was once again dreaming. If this really was a dream, and the Tree Lords were right about dreams being the mirrors of destiny, he might be able to meet Loran here and ask her again about what she had said. Not knowing which direction to go in, he set off toward the dark flock.
The flock was of course in the sky, and unable to fly, Emerehad no way to reach it. Still, he went on. He felt an urge to get as close to it as possible.
Like eyes adjusting to the dark, he began to adjust to the red world around him. In the warmth he felt on his skin and the breath coming into his lungs, he noticed things he hadn’t at first. His heart trembled. He breathed deeply.
Memories of events he had never experienced rushed into his mind with the air he breathed. Countless people, countless countries, and countless scenes, mixing up inside his mind, a great wave of noises and confusion. He screamed. He wanted to collapse on the ground but managed to stay upright, trying to make sense of all the thoughts as they came.
It was no use. Resentment and rage as vast as this wasteland, death and loss and deprivation and humiliation that felt like his own, dug into his heart. The suffocating feeling akin to what he had experienced in Mersia decades ago came back. His skin froze from within. Then he realized—the darkness here was more than just absence of light. The air, or perhaps the space itself, was tainted with palpable gloom, poisonous and corrosive.
This was a world of sorrow and rage. Emere was very familiar with both feelings. After Kamori surrendered, he said he left his country to fight the Empire, but in the corner of his mind, he always suspected that perhaps it was really just to run away from those two feelings.
He wanted to escape now. The thing that pooled and coiled here was not the kind of darkness that a man was meant to endure. There was nothing,nothinganyone could do about it.
“Councillor.”
The voice reminded him of Gildas’s. Someone had laid hishand on Emere’s shoulder, a gesture that was sending warmth down his back. The horrible thoughts in his mind melted away.
Emere turned and there a young man stood, looking worried. Was he in his late twenties? There was a strength in his features, and the eyes behind his spectacles shone. The tattoos around his neck told him he was an Arlander. Thinner and simpler, compared to Loran’st’laran. Emere gathered his wits.
“You must be Cain.”
The young man nodded. “The first time entering is always overwhelming. I tried to get to you as quickly as possible, but time doesn’t flow in the usual way here.”
“And where is ‘here’?”
Cain gestured around them. “This wasteland is the world inside the mind of the Circuit of Destiny. A dream, in a sense.”
He hadn’t thought of the Circuit of Destiny as having a mind, but the magic sounded familiar.
“I met a sorcerer who could make a room inside her mind.”
“You mean Arienne?” Cain asked, beaming.
“Do you know each other?” Emere asked, surprised.
Cain shook his head. “We only met briefly. When she was running away from the Capital.”
